


Rest for the Wicked

by BoPeepWithNoSheep



Series: Gently Rise and Softly Call [1]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast), The Adventure Zone: Balance (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ascension, Canon-Typical Violence, Captivity, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Mild Blood, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Religious Cults, Rescue Missions, Reunions, Starvation, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Team as Family, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2019-06-22 15:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 24,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15585387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoPeepWithNoSheep/pseuds/BoPeepWithNoSheep
Summary: The problem with surviving the end of the world is now Lucretia has to live in it.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Gonna be real, I have no idea what I'm doing with this fic I just have a lot of feelings about Lucretia.

The problem with surviving the end of the world is now Lucretia has to _live_ in it. It was never something she planned for, not really--It wasn’t that she hoped she would die in that last bout against The Hunger when she’d begun her plan all those years ago, it was simply an inevitability of being alone. Sure, she had survived alone once but that had been different, back then she’d needed to survive so her friends could live. This time, so long as she played her cards right in protecting them, she didn’t have to survive it. If the ultimate sacrifice were necessary she would take it for them in a heartbeat if it meant they’d be protected.

Then things become complicated, as the universe is want to do. Lucretia is alone, then old, then she is no longer alone but still forgotten, then she is no longer forgotten but still alone.

It isn’t the same sort of loneliness, it’s less literal this time because Magnus and Merle still drag her to family events--But there is a distance now, between her and Taako, her and Davenport, and though it is smaller the distance between her and Lup and Barry is still more vast than her heart can really bear at times.

So she does what she has always done when her heart aches too much for spoken word, she picks up a pen and she writes. Of course, now there are no stories that desperately need recording, now there is the Bureau of Benevolence and a world half eaten by The Hunger that needs assistance recovering so Lucretia pens letters, write acquisition lists, calls in favors and favors that she had collected in her pockets like Taako and his pudding.

She’s so busy, and this is good because when she’s not working she has to sit and steep in her own thoughts. She thinks of her poor decisions that nearly doomed herself and all of her friends, her poor decisions which have damaged some of them, most of them, to an irreparable degree because she thought she knew best because she thought she was out of options.

She was the youngest when everything started, Magnus was close in age but she had been young and naive and perhaps the century had aged her in some ways while it had stunted her in others. She can recognize that now in the wake of her own handmade disaster when she became nothing but a harbinger of pain and despair to her family in her attempts to keep them safe.

She’d still like to keep them safe, safe from pain and safe from herself mostly. It isn’t as if there’s a reason for her to do anything so extreme again or even the capability but sometimes she finds herself idly wondering if things would be better if they could just forget--Not everything this time, and certainly not each other, but just her. She’s served her purpose in the world now, used her spell to destroy The Hunger in a way she could never have conceived on her own, and while she lingers for the sake of the BoB it won’t always need her.

Carey and Killian are charismatic and cunning, Avi is loyal and steady, Brad is kind and organized. Between the four of them, they’re more than enough to make up for her absence.

There’s never a true tangible thought for her to grasp of _‘Yes, I’d like to die now please,'_ instead the thoughts are smaller, more intrusive

_‘Look how well they’re doing, Lucretia,’_ The thought slithers into her head sometimes during Killian and Carey’s wedding. It’s a beautiful ceremony and the reception is a party for the ages, Taako and Lup nearly started a bloody, albeit playful bare-fisted brawl over the bouquets--Of which somehow end up in the hands of Kravitz and Barry and Lucretia knows with Carey’s dex score that’s not a coincidence. The entire scene is beautiful and tears swim in her vision as a little voice in the back of her mind whispers, _‘They don’t need you anymore.’_

The voice is back when Magnus drags her to Candlenights at his new house, she spends the majority of the party holed up on his front porch. The winter air is frigid but it’s better than the glare from Taako or the silence from Davenport when she forgets what she’s done and speaks. When she draws attention to herself and how much she no longer fits into the little puzzle that had been the IPRE crew, her edges too blunted and everyone else's too sharp.

_‘You hurt them once, what’s to stop you from doing it again?’_ It says, and Lucretia nods because yes she agrees. She hurt them and it’s terrible and Gods she’s so sorry but none of that matters because apologies don’t change actions, _‘If you don’t see them then you can’t hurt them.’_

It’s the last family holiday she attends.

But there’s one so much louder than the others, deceptively sweet and alluring and every time she finishes a task it rears it’s head sickly and beguiling. It harkens back to earlier cycles in the century, back before she’d been alone when dying had been both more meaningful and not. When opting out of ‘bad’ cycles had been not an option but still a momentary consideration, back when she’d trusted the others to always survive if she couldn’t. That trust had shattered, that cycle alone had changed her in so many ways for better and for worse, but it had made that little voice _stop_ back then.

There are no more cycles now, no more reasons for the voice to be silent, and nothing left in Lucretia to find reasons to fight it.

_‘It’s alright now,’_ It soothes, _‘You can finally rest.’_

_Rest_ \--Rest is for the dead, for those who aren’t fleeing through the multiverse for the lives of themselves and every plane in existence. Rest is for those who never started a war and had to personally end it. Rest is for those who win.

They fought, they all had to fight and then they _won_.

Can she rest now? Does she even deserve it?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucretia is without question one of the most powerful mortal beings in all of the multiplanar systems. A century of experience, an iron will, and yes, a degree of ruthlessness makes her a formidable foe when she’s at her best.
> 
> The problem is, Lucretia is not at her best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot? In my meandering character study??? Who'd have thought???

At the end of the day, Lucretia is without question one of the most powerful mortal beings in all of the multiplanar systems. A century of experience, an iron will, and yes, a degree of ruthlessness makes her a formidable foe when she’s at her best.

The problem is, Lucretia is _not_ at her best.

She is perhaps at the lowest she has been in her too long life. Cycle 65 she’d had hope, a sliver of faith that if she could just survive the year then she’d see her family again. In Wonderland she’d had a purpose, even when she’d hacked great heaving breaths of noxious despair she moved forward with the knowledge that she had to survive.

Now, things are different. Lucretia is _weak_ , she can’t remember the last time she’s slept anywhere but her desk, she knows she’s eaten in the last few days because Avi had pressed a bowl of oatmeal into her hands at some point but she can’t necessarily recall whether she’d actually eaten the entire bowl. That someone has managed to get the slip on her is unsurprising, in her current state she is no match for anything.

It is to her detriment, she thinks, that so often she sequesters herself within her chambers for days at a time. No one will notice she’s gone soon enough to get a good trail and while she’s not sure she deserves a rescue her employees don’t deserve the panic that will ensue when they finally enter her office and find it empty and in utter disarray.

The fight is nothing compared to her own feats in former battles, pathetic and weak as she has always been inside. She isn’t actually sure how many opponents she’s fighting because no matter what spells she uses they just keep _coming_. She’s dizzy and disoriented as spells fly back and forth, most of hers hit but she stumbles more often than she should. She’s so exhausted, and she has less spell slots than she remembers having.

She leaves scorch marks on the floor with a fire spell Lup had shown her decades ago, an angry bruise forms on the cheek of one of her captors, an elbow thrown just like Magnus had taught her after that first bar fight he’d defended her from. A mix of abjuration and illusory magic had been her last resort, an attempt to hide as all of the sudden efforts began to overwhelm her already weak body. Perhaps it could have worked had she not already been flagging, the image of her empty desk had shuttered to a halt as black spots danced before her. Then it had only been a matter of her captors waiting her out.

The shield sputters and sparks along with her vision, she feels hands dragging her too light body as the world fades around her. Chains rattle somewhere in the distance and the cold bite of metal makes her hiss as cuffs slam around her wrists. Her struggles grow weaker and weaker, the binding so heavy and her body so tired.

She slurs a something, a threat to her captors or an apology to her family--She isn’t quite sure anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus is so angry with himself, that not a single member of Starblaster crew realizes Lucretia is missing until they’re told she’s missing.

Magnus is so angry with himself, that not a single member of Starblaster crew realize Lucretia is missing until they’re  _ told _ she’s missing. It  _ hurts _ that Avi and Angus are the ones to figure it out then Carey and Killian send word of it--They would have come themselves but the two of them are apparently interim co-directors until Lucretia can be found again and trying to organize a search party for your own boss is a lot of work.

Seven bodies had been found in her overturned office. Three of them burned beyond recognition and only the fact that they were all obviously inhuman keeps them from having to wonder if Lucretia was among the charred remains. Three humans had been found practically embedded in the walls, and Magnus would bet gold that they’d been blown back by one of Lucretia’s shields based on the pure blunt force damage. Lastly, a single half-elf lay beside her desk with a caved in nose and cheekbone, he’d whistled low at the description. Lucretia had never been much of a brawler, tall but rail thin with delicate, well-maintained hands. Her elbows though, those had been bony as all get out and Magnus had been on the receiving end of more than a few chastising ones during pre-flight training before he’d had the forethought to actually teach her how to use them.

He’s  _ so _ glad he did now because it might mean that she’s still alive because of the fight she put up in light of the fact that  _ her magic _ apparently wasn't enough.

As he looks over the wrecked office with Angus at his side, guiding him through the crime scene, it feels like walking into the rubble of Ravensroost. Angus points out each little bit of evidence, a scrap of fabric here, yanked out hair there, and an as of yet unidentified puddle of blood they were still waiting for testing on. From the tense lay of Angus’ shoulders when the boy explains all this Magnus knows they’re both praying to whatever Gods will listen that the blood isn’t Lucretia’s.

“She didn't come to my violin recital, sir,” Angus whispers, lip warbling precariously as Magnus reaches down and grasps the little detective’s hand. It’s a testament to how upset he is that Angus doesn’t shrug him off with the insistence that’s he’s a boy detective, not a  _ baby _ detective,  “She  _ always _ comes, even if she uses disguise self so Taako doesn't get upset.”

That wasn't something Magnus had been aware of and he's kicking himself for it. He  _ also _ went to all of Ango’s little show concerts and he hadn't noticed. Granted, now that he actually  _ thought  _ about it he remembered an elegant half-orc with platinum hair that always came with Carey and Killian. He'd talked to her once, Carey said she was Killian’s second cousin or something and Magnus hadn't considered for even a moment that he’d failed that perception check and thus chalked up the familiar feeling he got from the woman as just her relation to his friend.

Of course Lucretia had been sneaking in under there noses, Angus is like--Well, Angus is a lot of things to all of them, and Magnus doesn’t like putting words in Lucretia’s mouth, because he’s never been as good at them as her, but Angus is practically the son of the Starblaster. Lucretia missing a single moment of his life she doesn’t have to for the sake of keeping the family peace isn’t surprising.

Well, the family peace is sure gonna be fucked _now_.

“Have you guys heard back from anyone else yet?” Magnus asks slowly because frankly, he doesn’t blame Angus for pushing off notifying everyone onto Carey and Killian. The two might be upset and scared of having to investigate the kidnapping of their own surrogate mother, but they’re also  _ adults _ . Magnus loves his family but they’re all an utter clusterfuck of dysfunction when it comes to Lucretia, well except him, Merle, and usually Lup.

“Mister Davenport and Merle are on their way, their signal was shaky out on the ocean but we got enough of the gist to them that they’re heading back. Uncle Barry and Aunt Lup are on a mission with Mister Kravitz and we won't be able to get a hold of them for another few days at least,” Angus scuffs one shoe against the ground and huffs out several fortifying breaths that Magnus recognizes as the calming exercise Lucretia taught the crew ages ago, “ Missus Killian made the mistake of mentioning the call was about Lucretia before actually telling Taako w _ hat _ it was about. He hung up on her and won’t answer any calls from her or Missus Carey now.”

Magnus groans, his free hand lifting to pinch the bridge of his nose, he isn’t surprised or even all that irritated--He’s just so  _ tired _ . He feels a soft squeeze and looks down to see Angus now has both hands gripping his, he forces a smile and he watches Angus do his best to muster one back. They're not good ones, more of grimaces than anything but it’s all Magnus has in him and Angus seems just as fucked up at the moment.

“I’ll call him, you go check with Avi again. See if we’ve got any word back from anyone else, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to see any of my other writing you can check out my tumblr, https://bopeepwritingsheep.tumblr.com/
> 
> I'm going to start putting some of my misc TAZ writing stuff up on there, I take prompts, and in general ramble a lot about whatever I'm writing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fact of the matter is, Lucretia, doesn’t really have that much to live for, but she’ll be damned if these fuckers kill her. It’s some sort of gods damned necromancy cult--because of course, it is.

The fact of the matter is, Lucretia, doesn’t really have that much to live for, but she’ll be damned if these fuckers kill her. It’s some sort of gods damned necromancy cult--because of course, it is. 

The place she’s being kept is nice enough, but Lucretia has been captured before, not in recent years but she knows a cage when she sees one. Whether they give her a bed and clean clothes is irrelevant to the fact that she’s wearing shackles that keep her from forming magic outside her body.

Her internal clock tells her it’s been two days when they finally come for her, but without windows, that’s really just guesswork. The person who enters is wholly unobtrusive, blandly elven to nearly a fault in their pure white robes with blue accents. It feels mocking, the color combination she had crafted around herself inverted and thrown in her face.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Lady Lucretia.” 

“Madame Director.” She corrects, voice acidic and commanding in a way that she’s spent a decade crafting. She could be wearing rags and have two broken legs and she would be able to slide on the mask in the face of an enemy. That she’s twenty pounds underweight and anemic at the moment, well perhaps that takes away from the effect but once again, it’s irrelevant. She keeps her head held high, ignore the vertigo and lightheadedness. 

The cultist smiles wide, as if they are welcoming a house guest, “A title unbefitting of your true rank, My Lady.” 

There’s something--something inherently rankling about the cultists’ words--What rank does Lucretia have that matters? She is Madame Director, a title she scraped together and crafted out of desperation to save a dying world. She was the Chronicler but she threw away that title to become the Lonely Journal Keeper, solitary and driven. Perhaps to a world still reeling from the Hunger there is a place for her titles, for the control and constancy she can extend to a troubled plane--but there’s no _substance_ behind them. 

Lucretia is a beautifully painted matryoshka doll with the insides taken out.

“I think that imprisonment is an odd way to honor someone.” 

“Imprison you? We wish to _free you,_  My Lady.” 

The words, the dulcet tone spoke with utter sincerity is like ice water dripping down Lucretia’s spine. Without truly thinking about it she feels a barrier alight just beneath her skin. A technique she’d developed decades ago, covert abjuration perfect for captivity. Enemies could pierce her skin but they’d never reach the tissue beyond her epidermis.

The cultist steps closer and Lucretia is stumbling, weak-kneed like a newborn calf--When did she last eat? Five days? The cultists have given her water, slid through a small slot in the cell door but no food. How long can she keep functioning? Magic buzzes beneath her skin but the cuffs on her wrists and ankles with their damnable runes seal the magic in. She could, perhaps, cast on herself but conventional offensive magic is out of her reach.

But when has Lucretia been any type of conventional. 

The stutter in her walk is true, her feet just won’t _listen_ to her, but it’s also exaggerated. A wounded gazelle gambit, the weaker they believe her to be the more they’ll underestimate her. She’s out of the bed and away from the cultist’s dreamy smile and mocking robes, they pause, assessing her. Lucretia stares right back, fills her gaze with ice crystals and shards of biting glass. 

Weak but not broken, not in the way that this Cultist wants from her. 

They break first, glancing away and Lucretia is grateful. She’s light-headed and wants to lay back down but she won’t be left prone and vulnerable with an enemy in the room. They haven’t stopped smiling, wide and inviting, since they stepped into the room with Lucretia. A thought passes idly through her head, she hasn’t felt such visceral hatred for a simple expression since the ever-present leering of the bounty hunters from cycle sixty-five. 

“You’ve done so much for us, My Lady,” Closer and closer, the figure moves until they are mere inches from her. Lucretia is not a small woman, but she feels small stripped of her magic under this unblinking, unrelenting gaze, “We only wish to return your good service, to allow you to ascend to the level you _truly_ deserve.” 

“You’re _insane_.” 

The cultist extends their arms, palms up and declares, “My lady, you’re a _goddess_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's been a while since I've worked on this fic, I tend to juggle quite a few because my muse is fickle but I haven't forgotten about it! I can't guarantee I'll update any faster than usual but I AM still working on this one, just slowly.
> 
> Questions, comments, or prompts? hit me up on tumblr at bopeepwritingsheep


	5. Chapter 5

Magnus makes the call, because Angus shouldn’t have to. Angus loves Taako and Lucretia, not that he doesn’t love all of them but with those two it’s something special. They’re the parents this kid never had, and most of the time Magnus thinks Angus does a good job of compartmentalizing their issues and their love for him.

With this, well, when Taako gets like this there’s no one free from his spite, not even Angus. Magnus knows that if they let Angus be the one to break this news they’ll all regret it later. Magnus for not taking on the weight a child shouldn’t have to carry and Taako for letting his anger overwhelm his love for his magic boy.

So Magnus takes the weight, and Magnus makes the call.

“Lucretia is gone, Taako.”

There’s a sound over the phone, something like the swish of fabric and given the time of day he’s called, Magnus wouldn’t be surprised if Taako is just now getting up. Sorting through his pocket dimension of a walk-in closet for his daily attire, heedless of family calls, especially those regarding his least loved member of their family.

Taako clicks his tongue and Magnus prepares himself for the onslaught, “Bitch finally decided to take a hike? Good for her,” The _clatter, clatter, click_ of hangers echoes over the stone and Magnus thinks that maybe he’s going a little crazy. Because his head is buzzing in time and numbness flows through his limbs at Taako continues, “You need anything else because don’t think I won’t block your number like I did Carey and Killian until this whole rogue director deal is over.”

He breathes but doesn’t feel it, not in his lungs like he should--Just creaking in his bones like any moment they’ll shatter. His voice is quiet, “She didn’t leave, Taako. She was _taken_.”

“Yeah, fuckin’ right. Probably just finally cracked under all her beloved fucking guilt and self-loathing. Maybe she finally figured out nobody needs her high and mighty attitude anymore and went off to live her life as a hermit on a second hidden moonbase. She’s set a precedent for duplicitous bullshit like that.”

Then the cord in him snaps. The little rope holding all of his composure together, still and quiet under the buzzing, bundled up like twigs that clatter to the ground. He doesn’t raise his voice but it comes out in almost a growl, “Taako, shut the fuck up and _listen_ to me.”

There’s a pause on the line that goes on for so long Magnus is almost convinced that Taako’s hung up. For a brief moment, utter rage fills his chest at the thought. He wants to scream, wants to trash the busted office around him worse than it already is even if it would mean tampering with evidence.

“There’s blood in her office, _dead bodies_ in her office. Someone. Took. Lucretia.”

He wants to cry because it’s _happening_ again. All he can hear are roaring flames, feel the ash settling in his eyes and his hair, smell the burning wood of once beautiful wooden columns that held up the craftsman’s quarter and worse the smell bodies. He’d never found Julia’s body--And what if he never finds Lucretia? He can’t. He can’t do this again. _He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. **Gods, please don’t make him do this again--**_

“Hey-- _Magnus_ , what the fuck you’re the one who called me with your fucking--Are you crying?! Shit--Fuck--Goddamnit, I’ll fucking--Have you called everyone else?”

It takes a few minutes for Magnus to respond with much more than blubbering _‘ya’_ and _‘nuh-uh’_ as Taako asks him about the situation--Somehow he manages to never ask about Lucretia herself, just about the rest of the crew and their current progress in getting up to the Moonbase. Magnus pulls himself together, more or less, he’s still crying but he can actually _talk_ so it’s progress.

Stumbling like a baby animal, words peter out between sobs, “If--If we lose her, that’s it. I-I can’t lose her, I can’t lose someone like this again,” His breath shudders and he hears a crash on the other side of the stone, “I _can’t_ , Taako.”

Magnus can hear Taako’s breathing, it’s speeding but still steadier than his own. The fighter tries to match his to it, in and out. Gods, he has no idea what he’s doing--He can save the world but again and again, time and time again he’s always gone when he should be there to save his own family.

  
_Julia. Steven. Lucretia._ They all circle in his mind condemnation and accusation digging into his flesh. They’re all dying because he didn’t keep his guard up. Because he thought it was all over, that everything was safe--Is there even such a thing as safe? If even in peacetime fate snatches his family away from him one by one?

It’s Taako’s voice that drags him from his thoughts and makes Magnus realise that just maybe he said some of that out loud, “Just fuckin--Just _cool it_ , okay?” Taako screeches in his ear, and maybe it’s less grating and more calming that Magnus will ever admit, “I’ll--I’ll be there, fuck, I dunno, have Avi send a cannon or something. _Goddamnit_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooof, this was a tough one. It's short but honestly, I didn't feel right tacking on anything else with it.
> 
> If anyone wants to hit me up for questions, comments, or requests you can catch me on tumblr @bopeepwritingsheep


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for mentions of forced starvation on Lucretia's part

It’s funny, how much Lucretia notices her hunger when it’s someone else depriving her of food. How hyper aware she is of every clatter against the tiny door out of her prison. They leave her canteens thrice daily, each one is filled with water that she’s almost _certain_ is drugged but unlike food, water is an absolute necessity that can’t be ignored.

She glares up at the apparent leader when they step into the room, none of the other cultists are permitted to speak with her. No matter how much she attempts to engage with them they always scurry back to their apparent leader to tattle on her misbehavior. At this point, Lucretia thinks she may well begin planning an ambush on one of them. It is perhaps not her most realistic of options in terms of her slowly declining physical shape, but it’s the most cathartic to contemplate.

She hadn’t exactly been at the pinnacle of human health when she was taken, the first few days they had given her smatterings of food, hearty broths and bread but that has petered out to even smaller portions. Fruit, mostly ones she likes, which is a horrifying coincidence she does not deign to think too deeply on. It’s best to assume that it’s probably something picked up from the story but she just--

These people do _not_ know her.

Lucretia does not care about their wild delusions of grandeur on her behalf. She is tired, she is so very hungry, and she wants to go home. It is with all of the grandeur of the pedestal these people have placed her upon that she levels a stare at their leader, “It’s--It’s been four days since you’ve given me anything but the bare minimum amount to survive.”

The elf raises a single eyebrow at her before that placid smile blooms unwanted, “Your body must be cleansed of the bindings of mortality before we can begin the ritual, My Lady.”

The Madame Director watches them, stares at their angular face and the small round silver glasses placed delicately upon the bridge of their nose. Too close to Angus’ style for Lucretia to want to do anything but smack them from the elf’s face and crush them under her heel--As if they deserve _anything_ reminiscent of her little seeker.

She watches, the uptick of their mouth and the quiver of their brow and Lucretia _knows_ they are not lying outright but recontextualizing the truth. Her eyes narrow and her fists clench, “You--You’re _starving_ me. So I won’t be able to fight whatever utterly insane ceremony you’ve constructed.”

They cluck their tongue, like a disappointed school teacher, “Such a _crass_ way of putting it, My Lady.”

The dismissive tilt of their words makes Lucretia nearly see red with anger. She’s on her feet in moments stalking towards them until it is _they_ who moves back, putting several feet of distance between them. Away from her and the rage that exudes from the very core of her being. Lucretia is only stopped by the magic that surges through her manacles, setting her body alight with white-hot pain meant to immobilize her.

Lucretia grits her teeth against that pain as she hunches over, arms wrapped around her roiling stomach. She chokes on nothing, or perhaps her own tongue. She bites it and lets the coppery taste that pools in her mouth bring her focus.

She’s felt worse.

“Stop with this benevolent _bullshit_ ,” Lucretia hisses through clenched teeth, “You’re trying to murder me--Just have the balls to actually say it.”

For barely a moment, just a hair of a second, the elf’s expression falls and their confident posture falters. It makes Lucretia tense as she waits for the shoe to finally drop and for them to snap. She holds her breath as they silently stalk towards her. Their face contorts, lips flattening before they settle into the first frown Lucretia has seen--but their eyes don’t match. It isn’t irritation or even frustration there, it’s something Lucretia can’t decipher.

Or perhaps, something she doesn’t _wish_ to.

“That isn’t what we’ve set out here to do My Lady, I swear to you.” They’re so gentle and chiding that Lucretia wants to be sick--Or perhaps that’s the stress of several volts of electricity still coursing aftershocks through her limbs. “I know that it’s hard to see it now, but you’re a woman who understands the ends can justify unpleasant means.”

Lucretia snarls, feeling like a coyote in a leghold trap. It’s the same feeling from back in cycle sixty-five that moment of clarity in her knowledge that if the cost of freedom is her own limb she would gladly rip it off and throw it in her captor’s face.

“I have died in more time and more ways than you can comprehend, and I’ll tell you something I’ve learned. Pretty words don’t change a death sentence.”

“Faerun has never had a goddess like you, our own gods, weak and feeble abandoned us to the Hunger but _you_ , My Lady. You saved us all!”

They move closer suddenly and however much Lucretia wants to back away her legs threaten to give out if she makes a sudden move. The way that their hands caress the sides of her face so suddenly is reverent and the unrestrained devotion in the elf’s eyes fills Lucretia’s gut with a heavy dread, “Eldath taught us that passivity would keep us safe under her hand then left us to _suffer_ \--but you came to us, protected us from relics and monsters, guided the other birds to the true light, and starved The Hunger where it lurked prepared to devour us all! You have done more for this plane and than god or goddess born to it!”

Her limbs tremble and all at once they shudder and lock as Lucretia feels true fear for the first time since she had been taken to this place. She knows that level of certainty, the glint of the knowledge of necessary sacrifice--She had seen it reflected in her own eyes for eleven long years.

Lucretia finally rears back, nearly throwing herself back onto the bed they’ve supplied her with. Her knees knock painfully against the frame and she sinks back into the softness breathing heavily. Anything to be away from those gentle hands and frenzied eyes--Gods, is this how she seemed to her family? So desperately certain despite the nonsense spilling from her lips?

Panic flutters in her chest but Lucretia pushes it down and down, locks it away in a little box where she can examine it when she isn’t marching towards a slow, final death. Still, she is defiant, she will not break of bow to this being and their mad devotion. “Who _are_ you? What is your _real_ plan?”

And they grin, they grin and hold their hands out wide and Lucretia thinks of herself making that same gesture to her boys nearly two years ago now. Wide and welcoming them to her bureau, it sends a shiver down her spine, “I am The First Bastion of Faerun’s Last Light, and I will do _everything_ in my power to allow for your holy ascension.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has been a trudge to write and in general, this fic wavers a bit between finishing entire chapters in one day to take weeks and pulling teeth and this one was honestly a mix of both. I did finally get to give a little more info on our villain, Bastion who I've very excited to show y'all as we get further into this story. Next chapter we'll be back with Maggie who I think I'm going to keep at the primary rescue team pov unless yall really want someone else.
> 
> If you have any question, comments, suggestions you can hit me up on my tumblr bopeepwritingsheep


	7. Chapter 7

His family sweeps in like summer rain, in patters and then in buckets.

Taako is the first one up but pointedly avoids the entirety of the ongoing investigation Angus is leading--He does, however, make both Magnus and Angus actually sit down and eat something at least three times a day. He wanders into meetings with Carey and Killian with a juice box for Angus in one hand and the protein shakes Magnus always drank on the starblaster in the other. The elf won’t be argued with, big brain and big muscles need to be fed, he insists. It makes Magnus feel slightly steadier, less like everything around him is going to shatter like glass if he steps wrong.

Merle and Davenport come two days later, Merle doesn’t really seem sure what to do beyond making bad jokes that don’t even manage to make Magnus’ lips twitch when normally they might have had him snorting or Taako yelping in indignation. Davenport is different and yet startlingly familiar, Davenport gets right to business, immediately staking out the crime scene himself with Angus in tow.

“I-I want copies of everything she was working on when she was taken. Sh-She could have stumbled onto something with the B-Bureaus work.” Davenport demands, tail flicking and mustache twitching. It’s a little surreal, to see Davenport the captain in the room where they all grew used to seeing Davenport the ward and assistant. It’s a comfort that Magnus soaks up like a weed, letting the familiar sight fill his chest with something that might just barely be hope.

Even if Angus and Killian have already done exactly what Davenport asks it’s heartening to have another pair of eyes on things. To have their captain here and keeping them on focus so Magnus can’t find time to wallow in his own inadequacies and worry.

Even when Davenport doesn’t find anything new, he tells himself it still means something. Lies to his captain, assuring him that he hadn’t expected the gnome to find anything that Angus couldn’t.

They dither for three more days, waiting for Barry and Lup and Magnus thinks he might just go insane. They have nothing. No leads. No news. They have _absolutely nothing_ and Magnus thinks this might actually be worse than Ravensroost in some ways. At Ravensroost he knew it was over, he might not know who took Julia, Steven, and his home from him but he knew intrinsically that none of it would ever come back to him. That had been a simple takeaway from the fire and ash that took his home.

Lucretia, on the other hand, exists in a limbo state. When he’s asleep she burns like Ravensroost and a million things worse. He sees every death of the century but it isn’t the young, vibrant Lucretia who he watches die--It’s the director, it’s his friend who’s older and wearier and so lonely and begging him _'Please find me, I don’t want to die alone.'_

Magnus wakes up screaming the first two nights they wait for Lup and Barry. He thinks he would have the third night but Taako hits him with a sleep spell while he’s getting ready for a midnight quick jog that will inevitably turn into an all-nighter. Taako’s nice enough to levitate Magnus back to their own room, even if he dumps him on the couch instead of in his actual bed. Magnus lets Taako think he doesn’t realize it’s because the couch is within line of sight of the kitchen where Taako’s been spending all his time baking for him and Ango.

On the fifth day, he calls a meeting, because he can’t _take_ this.

“We need to set out _now_ , Lup and Barry can catch up whenever they get away from their reaper shit, _I don’t care_.” Magnus’ fist hits the table like a hammer, punctuating his point fiercely and emphatically. Davenport scowls, the smallest tic of a frown on his formerly neutral expression as he signs and shakes his head in exasperation.

“Magnus, if whoever took Lucretia was strong enough to _take Lucretia_ we’re going to need all of us to get her back.”

There’s a valid point somewhere in that argument but the problem is, Magnus doesn’t fucking care. His sister is missing--His sister could be dying and they’re all just sitting on their asses as if she’ll pop back up the next cycle, “If we wait too long how do we even know she’ll be _there_ for us to save?!”

“Listen, I know that y-you’re worried, we’re--we’re _all_ worried,” Davenport sends a significant look towards Taako, who’s mouth snaps shut before whatever snippy comment he had been prepared to interject with can escape, “We _must_ faith in her. She’s an incredibly powerful woman and gifted spellcrafter.”

A small voice pipes up from the entrance of the room, hesitant and stilting, “I-I don’t think she’s as strong as you all think she is.”

All eyes turn to Angus as he stands almost huddled in the doorway. Taako’s at his side in seconds a hand on his shoulder and soothing words on his lips as he leans down to whisper something in the boy’s ear. However, Angus seems to catch his second wind and shrugs off Taako’s hand, marching forward to stand in front of Davenport.

“You all--You know Miss Lucretia from the century but that's not the same Miss Lucretia she is now! Miss Lucretia’s not--She’s strong but she’s hurting all the time! I-I don’t know if--if something bad happens I don’t know if she’ll defend herself from bad stuff.” The boy’s confidence seems to deflate the longer he goes on in equal measures to the horror that rises in Magnus’ throat.

It doesn’t help the general vibe of the room either, as Taako seems frozen between what must be a war in his head of criticizing Lucretia and comforting Angus. In the end, the latter seems to win out and Taako circles an arm around him. He pulls the boy close just in time for Ango to let out a small, pitiful flurry of sniffles as he rubs at his face, “She’s strong but--but she’s not strong for _herself_ , just for other people! The Bureau's supposed to take care of her, ‘cause she’s given us all so much but--but we _lost_ her!”

His mournful snuffling morphs into a full-on wail by the time he’s finished and everyone in the room seems almost frozen in time. Davenport’s face looks nearly painful and Merle’s expression isn’t much better. Taako’s is stormy enough but there’s also a look of abject distress for his boy that makes Magnus let go of his own anger about Taako’s lack of concern towards Lucretia.

Magnus doesn’t imagine he looks much better anyway, he can feel tears pouring down his face.

The silence is nearly staggering, only broken up by Angus’ sobs and Taako’s quiet murmured attempts at reassurance. Arguing would be better than this, at least it would be something less dread-inducing than a sobbing child. Magnus can feel his own breath hitching when a sudden ripping sound fills the hush. With a great echoing crash, Lup lands in the very center of the meeting table, not a hair out of place with a snarl on her lips,

“Who the _fuck_ stole my girl?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well hello friends, it's been a hot minute but I'm back with some fam angst!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up trigger warnings for gaslighting because Bastion is in Full Form this chapter.

Their next conversation is over what is ostensibly breakfast for no other reason than Bastion declares it so. Lucretia has skipped four meals when the leader finally putters in with that same, disappointed grandparent expression. Lucretia answers it with a sneer of her own even as she’s presented with the heartiest meal she’s seen in days at this point. Honeyed oatmeal with caramelized peaches, just like Taako used to make for her.

They don’t look quite right, no one can hold a candle to the greatest chef in the multiplanar system and they’ve used the wrong honey. Taako knows that Lucretia is terribly picky and would prefer nearly any other type of honey to clover—But Lucretia still has to bite back tears as the scent hits her nose.

It’s been _years_.

“What makes me so much better than your previous Goddess?”

She knows this is what Bastion wants, that this peace offering is their attempt to make her speak again. She’s held her tongue for days, she thinks, or perhaps less time. The intermittently drugged water they’ve been giving her is impairing her internal clock with the way it knocks her out at all hours. Combined with her windowless room, the very concept of tracking time has become nearly impossible.

Of course, Bastion perks at the attention, their ears flicking to attention and a pleased elven purr rumbling from their chest for a brief moment before they clear their throat. They look almost bashful for a moment, for so clearly broadcasting their pleasure.

“Ah, you’ve deigned to speak with me again, My Lady?”

It’s too human a gesture, Lucretia does not trust it.

“Answer my question.”

Bastion grins, spreading their hands across the table before them. A small scrap of light dances on their fingertips before a little symbol burns itself into the table before them, prestidigitation or some similar cantrip. The symbol seems vaguely familiar, a waterfall plunging into an inexplicably still pool of water. A minor goddess of Faerun’s pantheon though Lucretia cannot remember the name for the life of her.

“Well, there are many ways, I believe. While I hold no _outright_ disdain for the fall of our gods and goddesses I cannot standby and _ignore_ it. I used to believe the gods infallible, the one constant in our universe but The Hunger opened my eyes--The only constant upon this plane in its time of need was _you_.”

That isn’t--It’s hardly true, a manipulation of the circumstances to benefit their worldview. Lucretia cannot contain the grimace from her features, cannot remain plain faced and neutral hearing someone misconstrue her actions as something so heroic, “I-I was only cleaning up the disaster I helped craft.”

“Do you _truly_ believe that?” Their eyes are so wide and earnest, and a hand skitters across the table to briefly rest against her own. Lucretia remains silent, nothing she says will sway this elf—or at least that is her justification. Bastion, of course, takes this as an opportunity to continue their monologue,

“There is some debate among the clergy—Ah, don't scoff at us, my lady it _is_ what we are—as to the exact nature of your godly tenants.”

Bastion’s wide smile is nearly blinding and Lucretia almost wishes she were blind, then at least she wouldn’t have to stare at their smug expression for hours on end, “The goddess of disappointments or perhaps world breaking mistakes.”

“You’re far too harsh on yourself, My Lady. Would you like to know what your people think of you?”

“You are _not_ my people.”

Bastion cocks a brow at the vehement response, “Aren’t we? You sacrificed so much to save us.”

“I-I saved this world--I saved it because I couldn’t save mine.”

“If that is what helps you cope with your suffering I shall not take it from you, but let it be a similar comfort that _we_ know better.”

Lucretia bites back tears, though she isn’t sure if they’re angry or mournful, “You don’t _know_ anything. You know a story I wrote.”

“I know that you bring hope, that you are a keeper of stories, that you are a protector of refugees. Beings of _lesser_ will and compassion would attempt to forget and move on from the atrocities they witnessed but you held fast to them, used them to fuel your work to prevent others from occurring in the future.”

Lucretia remains tight-lipped and silent as she stares holes into Bastion’s unflinching stare. Their confidence never falters and for a brief moment, Lucretia is a little in awe of that. She has always put up a front of absolute self-assurance but it’s never really permeated to her core in the way that Bastion’s mad passion seems to. Finally, she breaks away from their gaze to stare down into the oatmeal cooling before her. Gingerly she picks up her spoon—anything to keep from having to speak with this deranged elf—and takes several bites.

She pauses as she swallows a particularly _sweet_ peach--There’s something sickly about the taste. A syrupy flavor more than honey or caramelized sugar that instantly has Lucretia reaching across the table for the glass of water beside Bastion. Before she can reach it the world lists to the side and Lucretia finds herself tilting along with it.

“ _Y-You_ sssson _of a bi--_ ” She manages to slur before she falls forwards, her arms flailing out and sending the bowl and glass on the table clattering to the ground. Her body feels weak, she can move her fingers but only barely. With what feels like a Herculean amount of effort she tilts her head from where her cheek is pressed against the table. Despite the immense exertion oh her part it is only just enough to look up to where Bastion is excitedly scrambling out of their chair, clapping their hands together triumphantly.

“Goodness, I was worried that my preparations had all been for nothing! I do apologize for the nastiness of all this. It’s only I know you won’t allow us to transport you safely,” They continue to chatter aimlessly, pushing their chair in like a polite little wasp of a being and buzzing closer with a grin that as always only widens, “Now let’s get you up, My Lady. We’re just scant few hours away from your ascension and really we have no time to spare!”

Arms stronger than Lucretia had thought capable lift her from the chair--Or perhaps Bastion isn’t so strong, perhaps she is truly that frail. She tries, so _desperately_ she tries to fight against the arms that feel like iron chains enclosing her very being. Her attempts come out as feeble struggles at best and Lucretia moves next to use her words, her biting wit, and acidic tongue but even those fail her as they all come out all vowels however vicious their tone.

Bastion tuts but seems to think better of it as Lucretia breathing speeds frantically as pure panic surges through her body. She reaches deep down into her gut, pulling desperately for any spark of magic or a spell but all of it dances out of her reach. There’s a ringing in her ears that takes several moments for her to realize is her own keening cry of distress.

There’s a pause in their movement, almost hesitation and a clear look of discomfort on their face as Lucretia finally lets go of the virulent ball of emotion that she’s been suppressing for ages. A keening wordless wail fills the room and Bastion’s ears press down and back in the clearest sign of distress she’s seen of them in any of these gods forsaken meetings.

“Shhhh, My Lady--No please, this isn’t,” Bastion struggles for a moment, readjusts Lucretia’s heavy limbs and tucks her face into their shoulder. Like a parent trying to calm a distressed child, “Ah, forgive my forwardness, it’s alright no one here wishes to harm you. We only want what’s best.”

 ** _Liar._** Lucretia wants to hiss--Wants to scream at the top of her lungs and utterly thrash this mad elf with their ludicrous dreams of grandeur on her behalf.

“I know, you have so many mortal tethers that make this process painful but I promise you, none of that will matter when it’s all over. You’ll see your purpose is higher than mortals who abandon you in your time of need! Do you truly believe they’ve noticed your absence? If they have I’m afraid I have my doubts that they’ll even care.”

The question is enough to shock Lucretia out of her feeble struggles if only for a moment as she realizes Bastion, in this one singular moment, is right. Lucretia hasn’t actually considered that her family would come for her but that isn’t because she doesn’t believe in them it’s just--Lucretia just doesn’t think she’s _worth_ coming after.

Her family has to realize that too, don’t they? After everything she’s done, it must be so obvious to all of them, this is just the perfect opportunity for them to realize that they can finally just give up on her. To let her go with a clean break, no more obligations from a century worth of feelings she ruined.

It isn’t that she’s ever considered giving up to this mad cult, it’s only that she’s spent this time assuming it would be her sole responsibility to wait them out. She’s never expected a calvary to be coming for her. She doesn’t _deserve_ one.

“Their neglect knows no bounds, wildly misinterpreting the gifts you bestowed upon them.” That dissatisfied tone is back and in her current state it’s rather baffling to hear it applied to someone besides herself--If anything where Bastion’s tones are soft and chiding when ‘correcting’ her now their voice is biting and acidic in a way that almost resembles her own. Helpless and vulnerable as she is, It sends a shiver down her spine.

“That captain! Where was he for you after your year alone? You carried all of their weight upon your back but none of them could spare a moment for your immeasurable pain, for your suffering in the face of utter destruction! You took the weight of the planar systems on your back not once but _twice_ and they’ve chosen to ignore you when all is said and done.”

A stone settles within her gut as Bastion rants, tells her things that he should not know. Recent events, events beyond The Story. The way Davenport had left without a word or a goodbye--And Lucretia never blamed him but Bastion shouldn’t know this.

How do they  _know_ this?!

“The necromancer is no better, he couldn’t be happy with the life you crafted for him. You wished to give him some semblance of peace, ease the pain that HIS failed plan caused and not only did he reject you--He nearly doomed all of Faerun with his interference.”

But that’s wrong--Because Barry never deserved the suffering she foisted upon him however accidentally. Out of all the boys, only Magnus had  _actually_ benefited from the happy lives she had tried so desperately to craft for them, and even then it had only brought him pain in the end. Perhaps Barry would have been happy with the position at the Neverwinter Wizard's College she’d picked for him but she’s nearly certain that just like the lives she’d set for Taako, Merle, and Magnus it would have collapsed from under him like a house of cards.

“The elf--not lady Lup, she made _attempts_ to remedy her mistakes even if she was complicit in the relics all the same but her _brother_. He put no value in our lives until it suited him, and when you no longer suited him he abandoned you just like all the other planes that came before! No compassion or pity, just snide indifference.”

Taako is--Taako isn’t what they say but he _is_ \--She can’t deny the callousness that the century had instilled in her friend. The trait she had only further instilled in him with the removal of Lup--It hadn’t been her intent, she had only wanted to take some of the pain away just for a little bit. Her plan was never supposed to take ten years only one or two--

But her plans never turn out the way she wants them to.

Bastion chatters on, every so often adjusting Lucretia’s limp form as they carry her out of the room that’s been her prison cell for gods only know how long. The long halls are so meandering and similarly windowless that Lucretia thinks they _must_ be underground. She hates that almost immediately. If she’s going to die from whatever convoluted ritual Bastion has constructed she doesn’t want it to happen in a fucking _ditch_.

Yet her captor walks farther and farther and each hallway muddles into the next in a winding maze of turns until finally, they arrive at a staircase. Bastion carries her up the stairs and through the threshold into what can only be an open-air temple like some sort of mockery of a bride. It takes several moments to process through her drug-addled brain but slowly Lucretia realizes that every tapestry littering the podiums and every banner pole running through the odd little temple bares some sort of symbol with significance to _her_.

Down the rows as Bastion carries her she spots sigils of journals, stylized barriers, even Fischer among the many arrays that litter the room. The centerpoint being an imposing two-faced statue, one young and one old and it steals the very breath from Lucretia’s lungs as the approach and she realizes it is _her face_ staring out at the empty temple.

Before the statue is a great circle etched into the dirt floor, finely powdered silver fills the etched lines and a smaller ring of diamonds are littered at points that must be deliberate throughout the circle. Bastion is practically humming with glee as they approach, carefully step, step, hopping between the lines so as not to muss them. Ever so carefully, the elf lowers Lucretia to the ground in the very center of the circle.

This is it, Lucretia supposes as the cold from the dirt below her leeches heat from her prone limbs. She’ll either die here or Bastion will win, and she’s steadily wondering if those two things are not mutually exclusive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you go into a writing fugue state and basically double update, it just be like that.
> 
> Any questions? Requests? Want to yell at me for hurting Lucretia??? You can find me at bopeepwritingsheep on tumblr.


	9. Chapter 9

Barry’s entrance into the meeting room is slightly less graceful than his wife’s but really it’s no less intense. There’s something stormy about his eyes that Magnus hasn’t seen in him since the day of story and song.

“We have a track on Lucretia’s soul but--It’s not _good_.”

It’s Merle that pipes up in concern, waddling closer to the table in order to be a better part of the conversation, “What do you mean it’s not good? What can be not good about someone’s _soul?_ ”

Unlike Lup, barefaced and furious, Barry’s reaper’s shroud is still up. It obscures most of his face but Magnus has known Barry long enough to judge the rest of his face from the man’s impossibly expressive eyes. Barry grimaces, “There’s been interference on it all day, we kept getting a beat on her but then it would just blip out before we could put a pin in the signal but all of a sudden we could lock on but…”

Magnus pushes forward, wiping his face with one sleeve and lingering close to Angus just long enough to give the boy’s shoulder a squeeze, “But what?”

“But there’s something else caught in there with her, it’s—well, it’s _warped_ but I know that kind of magic anywhere. Someone’s got her tangled up with _bond magic._ ”

A hush falls over the room before it erupts into a cacophony as every member of his family bursts out at once. The loudest and most incredulous coming from Taako, “Who the fuck even _has_ bond magic on this backwater tech plane?!”

“Could it be Lucretia using it?” Davenport questions, though by the way his mustache twitches with irritation in time with his tail Magnus doesn’t think he’s terribly optimistic.

“Certainly the fuck not,” Lup begins to explain as she hops off the table and makes a beeline for Taako. Their hands find each other’s seamlessly, “Barry triple checked, the biosignals are completely wrong for this to be coming from her.”

Barry sighs deeply, sounding as old as they all _actually_ are, “This is being done to her.”

There’s a small voice that pipes up from behind Taako, “What does that _mean?_ ”

Angus’ face is still stained with tear tracks and his voice cracks with emotion. Without really thinking about it, Magnus scootches closer and lifts Angus up one handed. Propping the little detective between hip and bicep so he’s more at level with the rest of them, sans Davenport at least. Granted, Magnus thinks the captain is about three minutes from hopping onto the table himself to start commanding them like the old days when one of them went missing during a bad cycle.

Lup is the one who answers as Barry finally pulls off his shroud, revealing a tired face and messy hair that he desperately tugs his fingers through. It’s a bad habit and he’s been known to pull out strands if left alone with his anxiety. Lup reaches out, running her free hand down Angus’s arm and clutching his hand just like her other clutches Taako’s.

“It means that she might be hurting _real_ bad, kiddo—but we’re gonna save her before it’s too late, I _promise_.”

Angus struggles to respond, clearly overwhelmed by the emotional rollercoaster that the last few days have been. Instead, he clings to Lup’s hand while leaning into Magnus’ bulk, trying to rein back in his breathing.

“Okay. She’s gonna be okay.”

“That’s right, Angus,” Lup assures standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss to the top of the boy detective’s scalp, “We’re gonna save the day like we always do.”

Captain Davenport is the one who claps, gaining all of their attention. Every eye turns and the gnome stands a little taller, in his element again in the worst way possible. “Alright, cr-crew we have a tentative location, we have enough information to know that what we’re going into may not be the b-best scenario, we need to prepare quickly and head out immediately.”

No protests, in fact, it seems to snap a little bit of frantic panic out of the room, everything is still tense but for the moment it looks like the waterworks are mostly gone. Magnus doesn’t really know how long that will last for him, he feels like he’s got a churning ocean swimming behind his eyelids but for now he’s--he’s not okay but he’s functioning.

He’ll be okay when they save her, that’s what he tells himself.

It takes them all of thirty minutes to get everything squared away, the rest of the bureau needs to be informed for backup purposes. That process actually only takes about five minutes, what takes significantly longer is convincing one Boy Detective that he’s a better asset on the support team than the ground team.

“You can’t just leave me behind! She needs help and I can help!” He looks desperately between the various adults in the room and Magnus can see the gears turning in the boy’s head as he calculates the best one to appeal his case to. Unsurprisingly the first person he turns to is Taako, “You’ve taught me magic! You know that I can help.”

Taako grimaces and crosses his arms in front of himself, making an ‘x’ in the air, “No dice, pumpkin. If this shit weren’t twisted up with bond magic you’d be my first choice of back-up but there’s nobody on this plane who knows how to combat that shit but us.”

The rejection only riles Angus up further--The boy points an accusing hand at Taako, “You don’t even _want_ to help Lucretia! Why do you get a say in who comes or not?!”

Magnus spots the genuine shock in Taako’s posture more than his face, the way his shoulders drop just a hair and his ears twitch back but quickly course correct in such a way that means Taako’s liable to say something stupid and acidic to get out of a hard conversation. Magnus steps in, one hand on Taako’s shoulder and one carding into Angus’ hair.

“Angus,” Magnus says seriously, giving Taako’s shoulder a quick squeeze before he turns to kneel down to the detective’s level, “You’re smart, you heard everything that Barry said so I think you know why we can’t bring you with us.”

Angus bites his lip and for a moment the older human worries the kid’s gonna split his own lip open, “I care about her just as much as all of you,” He insists, foot stomping on the floor to punctuate his point. It’s a testament to how utterly wrecked Angus is, he’d never normally let himself sink to such a childish gesture to get his way, “She’s my family too!”

Magnus smiles sadly before pulling Angus into a tight hug, “That’s why we can’t take you with us, Angus. Lucretia loves you _so much_ it would kill her if something bad happened to you.”

They leave Angus with Carey and Killian, with the promise that should anything actually go south they’ll report in immediately for backup. It doesn’t appease Angus much but he’s calmer now, more focused as he begins to order around various BoB members lollygagging in the halls when they could be preparing the med bay for emergency trauma care or readying the cannons with medical supplies if they need to send one to location.

The boy looks _so much_ like Lucretia as he calls out orders, back straight even though his little blue suit is rumpled and his hair a disaster--Well, that’s really not so different from the Lucretia he remembers from the century but here Angus is a Director in miniature.

He likes to think Lucretia would be proud--that she will be proud when they bring her home and tell her what she’s missed.

They end up taking a rift to the site closest to Lucretia’s soul that they’re able--Barry says there’s something blocking them from dropping right down on the heads of whoever took Lucretia. It means whoever they are, they’ve prepared for the chances of being found which is a little worrying. However, Magnus has (almost) his entire crew surrounding him and that makes him stop and take a deep breath before he can lose his mind to panic again.

They defeated the Hunger together, there’s no way that anything the world throws at them can be bigger or badder than that.

The touch down at the edge of a forest nestled somewhere that feels a little too much like the Felicity Wilds in a way that makes Magnus shudder. Trees flank their backs but moving forward at Barry’s direction until the trees turn sparse and open into a wide valley that dips down. The valley isn’t bare though, like a normal stretch of nature, instead it’s littered with poles and banners.

At first glance, he thinks they’re for the Bureau of Benevolence but he realizes after further examination the heraldry is all wrong with the colors are inverted and something sideways and too curved to be the iconography of the Bureau. A pair of figure-eights--or infinity symbols. They move forward silently, through more and more frequent banners. Finally, they reach an ornate wooden gate with two statues bordering either side, the craftsmanship is so fine that were the situation different Magnus knows he would have liked to survey it more closely.

The carving is beautiful, clearly the work of a master a loving piece made from someone who put every ounce of devotion in their body into every little divot and etching. It almost feels a little like they’re trespassing somewhere sacred.

Taako is, of course, the one who finally breaks the silence, “Yeah, we’re not gonna talk about how this is creepy as fuck? We’re all gonna ignore the goddamn shrine we’re walking into?”

“Taako, now isn’t the time.” Davenport snaps, though there isn’t true heat to his words. It’s an automated response as he tensely stares up at one of the statues before them. There’s a sudden intake of breath, a soft swear muffled behind his hand and Magnus realizes that their captain hadn’t noticed until Taako pointed things out.

The statues are two Lucretia’s, one young and one old, both staring down with dead wooden eyes.

Taako snorts even when he shudders a bit as he pushes the gate open with mage hand and walks through the threshold of the two statues, the first of them to do so. “Nah, my dude I’m pretty sure this is _exactly_ the time ‘cause we’ve gotta know what we’re in for and this shit looks fucked.”

Magnus takes a deep breath, steels himself, and walks after his friend. Taako doesn’t take point often, it’s not strategically sound but he seems to be the one dealing with this whole thing with the most level head which--Yeah, Magnus is a little concerned about that but it’s a thought for later.

“He’s got a point, this is eerie as all hell.” Magnus says quietly as he glances between the two statues that flank the road’s transition from dirt to--The human’s brows raise nearly to his forehead as he realizes it’s yet more uncanny iconography. A colorful mosaic of glass painting pictures of the Starblaster and it’s flight from the hunger.

When he finally tears his eyes away he sees that one by one, his family around him are still dissecting the scene. Barry looks a little like he might be sick and Lup has one hand holding her wand and the other pressed comfortingly against the back of Barry’s neck-- As if she can physically shield him from the shivery feeling this entire place exudes.

“Uhhh, ya know I might not be exactly an authority of anything but Pan but this is,” Merle hesitates, his pace falling back behind the rest as his hand drifts towards the Extreme Teen Bible holstered at his hip, “Well, this place has a vibe that’s Not Super Great.”

Taako’s nose scrunches as he gives the pictures on the ground another once over, “The fuck does that even mean, old man?”

“Well, this is definitely a _temple_ and I’m thinkin’ I might know who it’s for.” Magnus doesn’t like the way that Merle hunches forward slightly like he’s bracing himself against a strong winter wind. If he is more sensitive than the rest of them to the whole spiritually holy thing, The human can’t imagine what it must feel like in this place that’s giving all of them the heebie-jeebies.

“You think they’re trying to sacrifice Lucretia?” Lup asks, tone worried and pace picking up speed, her heeled boots click against the glass beneath their feet. The idea sends a chill down Magnus’ spine and he can’t help the way he speeds up himself, pulling ahead of Taako, rushing in--When a foot snags his ankle and Magnus stumbles.

“Taako, what the fuck?!”

“Easy there, big boy. We talked this out, no rushing in.”

It makes him pause, genuinely pause and take a deep breath. Taako has a point, getting himself stabbed on some sanctified boobytrap isn’t going to save Lucretia. Still, that doesn’t make it any less frustrating, so while he slows his pace enough that he’s just keeping up with Lup and the two of them lead the way down the creepy as hell little blue road.

He keeps glancing down because it isn’t just their flight from The Hunger that it’s documenting, it’s the entire century but there are random stories missing. He can’t quite track the rhyme or reason that it’s skipping entire chunks of their certain years at random intervals. Some cycles only include a brief image while others tumble along before him for yards and yards.

Magnus notices Davenport suddenly stop short to examine the transition from one cycle to another a deep frown marring his features, “There are cycles m-missing.”

It makes them all halt as they glance down at the tiles Davenport kneels down to examine. His hand trails from one cycle ended, Lucretia triumphantly holding the Light aloft with Lup, to the next a cycle Magnus recognizes because it was the one where all the non-human crewmembers were captured or murdered by the planet’s populace.

“There was a cycle between these, th-the goblinoid plane.” Magnus winces, that one had been a rough year--They’d lost nearly half the crew the second week alone from an unexpected Bugbear raid. They’d just barely managed to limp out of that plane with only Barry and Davenport left and they hadn’t even managed to wrest control of the Light from the roving goblin tribes.

“So they got the story wrong I don’t even remember all the crap that happened,” Merle shrugs as he rests a hand on Davenport’s shoulder attempting to urge him up and onwards. Davenport however is stalwart and still, staring down intensely.

“No,” Their Captain insists, “There’s a _pattern_ here.”

They all stare, and Magnus has no idea what to do but shuffle his feet awkwardly because he’s not good at patterns. Not the way his crewmates are, and not the way Lucretia is. He’s good at people but there’s nothing he can do for the people--the person--he wants to help when they’re just standing and staring at shattered glass pictures.

“Guys, this doesn’t even matter,” He says urgently when he watches Davenport spring off the ground and dash backward studying the mosaic pictures intently, “We need to save Lucretia--”

But he’s caught off guard by Davenport once again halting in his tracks, his voice comes out in a startled squawk and his eyes tear up away from the ground, looking directly at Magnus, “That’s-- _That's it!_ ”

Their captain stomps his foot over the transition between two planes further back, “Here and here’s the storm plane and the rain forest plane. The mermaid plane was between them and Lucretia died during our second month,” Davenport skitters forward back up to the tiles that caught his attention in the first place, “Here the Goblinoid plane is missing and we lost Lucretia a week and a half in.”

Around him there are small noises of assent, they’re all following the picture that Davenport is painting for them. Deep down though, Magnus doesn’t really want to because more and more implications keep being raised and every single fucking one of them has the hairs on the back of the human’s neck standing on end.

“Come on,” It comes out weaker than he intends, more distressed pleading than confident urging, “We--Let’s just go get her. _Please_.”

Everyone is looking at him--And he knows there’s pity in those stares and he can’t look any of them in the eye. Gods, why does it always have to be like this? Why can’t his family ever just have a single fucking ounce of peace? It’s always dodging a fireball only to run right into a fucking wall of fire, haven’t they worked up some good karma? Haven’t they saved the world enough that they shouldn’t have to keep having to save themselves?

A hand falls on his shoulder and Magnus snaps from his thoughts, looking up he finds himself staring straight down at Barry. His friend’s face is tense but there’s such a deep well of concern in his eyes, a fount of compassion that it hits the fighter right in the gut. Barry’s been here, Magnus thinks as his mind conjures memories of the frantic search for Lup a decade prior and his mind unwillingly thinks of just how long Barry managed to keep his shit together when Magnus is losing his own after only a week.

He’s so weak. He just can’t survive this happening again, he really doesn’t think he can.

“We’ll find her. Even if she’s--” Barry cuts himself off, thinking better of his words before starting again, “No matter what’s happened, we’ll find her.”

Barry gives his shoulder a squeeze before Magnus croaks out a small noise--something like a sigh and a sob and yanks the necromancer forward into a tight hug. They move forward, together as a family, to get back their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YE BABY, we're pulling into the last few chapters now, I have the whole rest of the fic tentatively outlined and almost all of Lucretia's chapters done or very nearly so. This might be the second to last Magnus chapter depending on how things end up scattering but I think I've only got three chapters left and PERCHANCE an epilogue. I do have a bit of a sequel planned, or at least some one-shots that'll take place in this continuity. Thanks to everyone who's stayed with this fic so far and I hope you'll stay till the end!


	10. Chapter 10

Lucretia has never really been an optimist in the traditional sense, she considers herself a realist. She thinks her family might call her a pessimist at best and perhaps delusional at worst but there’s merit to that. At least a small bit anyway, because Lucretia just prefers to prepare for the worst as opposed to hoping for the best. There’s not much that can get worse in this situation, she thinks but like many assumptions, she’s made over the years Lucretia is of course proven wrong by her family.

“ _LUCRETIA!_ ”

She hears rather than sees her family burst into the temple, a clattering of wood and the sound of a controlled explosion. Lup is here, and Magnus too because that was his bellow.

“Hurry now! Start the ritual!” Bastion’s voice echoes through the room and it almost sends Lucretia’s already buzzing mind reeling. Too loud and too bright as radiant silver lights shoots up around her in a wide arc. She can barely tilt her head and it’s so very difficult to follow with her eyes but she manages well enough. There’s a dull repetitive noise, something like chanting but she can’t quite make out the language at first. Lilting and ethereal--Celestial, she realizes with a start.

Bastion is speaking in _celestial_.

It’s different than the dialect she’d picked up from Merle over the course of the century, the more stilted earthy consonants of the Pannite accent compared to Bastion’s smooth trills are jarring. She can make out nearly a third of their meaning, hears her own name repeated several times over along with words like _Guardian_ and _Lunar_. It’s hard to pay attention really, between the drone of the shield’s magic, the steady chanting, and a clamor of cries beyond all of it--It makes her head pound.

The chanting grows in volume and the buzzing in her limbs only intensifies. Her vision bleeds white for several moments and it’s nearly impossible to breathe. Bastion moves back into Lucretia’s field of vision. They lean down and Lucretia spots their bleeding palm coming for her face, she attempts to recoil but to no avail as Bastion smears the blood against her forehead. The elf is grinning when they pull away, raising their hands back up and folding them together as if in prayer.

Then a mighty crash fills her ears and Bastion’s smile vanishes, replaced with a vicious scowl, “Do not allow them within the circle!”

The shriek from within the sphere is practically deafening, thaumaturgy making the scream shatter through the small assembled crowd, pawns and her uninvited family alike.

“They shall not take her--I--We are so _close_.” Magic suddenly pulses and Lucretia’s eyes crack open for just a moment as energy of some kind feels like it’s being pumped directly into her veins. Her own screams quickly join Bastion’s impassioned shrieks as her body thrashes without her control, burning ice and wild electricity snaking through every nerve.

She can hear her family, somewhere off in the distance voices all rising up, spells firing, swords and knives and shields clanging. There but just beyond Lucretia’s focus, aware but unable to process. All she can hear for certain are the ragged breaths of Bastion above her, where they stand, hands raised menacingly and channeling equal amounts of necrotic and celestial energy that burn through her veins.

A horrible crack fills Lucretia’s ears and she knows from experience that it heralds the oncoming end of the barrier around them. For all of Bastion’s claims of careful research and study to replicate Lucretia’s own barrier for this so-called holy ritual, they couldn’t hold a candle to Lucretia’s Light addled power. It’s only a matter of time before her family makes it through, if Lucretia can last through the pain long enough she might be able to see them one last time.

Bastion is screaming again, so different from the eerily calm and cheery being who has tormented Lucretia for--for weeks? A month? Her sense of time lost in the wash of energy, blinding and seemingly never-ending. She isn’t even sure how long the ritual has been going on. How long has her family been watching her trapped just out of reach?

There’s a horrible tugging at her chest. With every word chanted around her it only pulls harder and harder, until it feels as if someone is trying to pry open her ribcage to yank out the rapidly beating heart that lays beneath. Tighter and tighter, the cord is pulled so taut that it makes her heart skip a beat.

Two beats. Three. Something _tears_.

She can’t breathe, every molecule of air knocked from her like a punch to the solar plexus as the feeling of being ripped free permeates her entire being. One moment she is laying on the ground, staring up and up unable to muster the strength to even move her head to focus on the chaos around her. Now inexplicably, she holds a bird's eye view of the entire temple and her family spread about it.

Magnus stands outside the barrier, his ridiculous sword clanging against its surface causing hairline fractures to split over the soft silver surface. Just behind him Lup and Taako stand side by side, sending jets of fire so hot the flames flash blue against silver in a macabre sort of send off to her bureau’s colors. If she squints she can see Davenport and Merle behind them, keeping various cultists away from Magnus and the twins as they begin to make short work of the barrier.

Lastly, she catches sight of Barry, he’s floating above the rest and by the look on his face and the way he stares down he must be dissecting the circle she still lingers within. Then he spots her, their eyes meet and the color drains from Barry’s face as his eyes dart between her and something on the ground. His mouth opens but his words can’t reach her, not over the din of her ears ringing so intensely.

A roaring sound, like a distant ocean, rumbles through her eardrums. It calls to her almost, a calming sound in the face of all the chaos around her. It sounds like someplace safe, just for a moment. Lucretia lets herself fade into the sound and drifts, away from Bastion and the cacophony of battle. She doesn’t have to sleep, just rest her eyes for a moment--It’s been so long since she remembers sleeping peacefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all gonna just have to sit on this cliffhanger for a bit because for once I DON'T have the whole rest of the next chapter finished but for editing when posting so uhhhh may need to wait a few more days than this guy's been updating lately. Don't hate me, I've been ratcheting up this dramatic tension for WEEKS to get to this moment we're SO CLOSE TO THE END.
> 
> I promise I'm not writing a tragedy here! Our heroes saved the world, they're gonna get the good ending they deserved it might just take a minute.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one gets a little violent I don't think it's really any worse than canon levels of violence but just wanted to give a heads-up

Frankly speaking, Magnus knows he’s had about three days that tie for the worst day of his life and today is looking to be steady competition to adding a fourth. It feels like they’ve been walking for ages when Davenport makes a sharp noise that makes Magnus stand at immediate attention like they’re back in IPRE training. He takes point along with Lup as Davenport silently points them towards the temple in the distance with hand signals Magnus hasn’t seen in over a decade. They fall into their old exploration line. Magnus and Lup first, then Barry and Merle, with Taako and Davenport pulling up the rear.

It feels unbalanced, not to have Lucretia squished between Barry and Merle, complaining softly that she knows magic too and _really_ doesn’t need to be babied in the middle.

The first sign of wrongness is how _quiet_ things are, not even the natural sounds of the forest as they move closer and closer to the open air temple. It’s Barry who thinks of it, who suddenly pushes forward behind Lup and casts dispel magic. All at once a cacophony of sound hits them all, chanting and soft crying--It’s a sound that’s familiar, a sound he’d heard muffled on the Starblaster so many time.

He bursts forward, all thoughts of staying in formation dissolving and by the sound of things, he knows that Lup is right there beside him as the gates to the temple proper blast open in a reign of fire and charred wood. As the rubble falls he can spot the telltale iridescent glow of one of Lucretia’s barriers--That’s something at least. She must be defending herself if she has the strength to cast such a strong spell.

“Magnus, gimme a bird’s eye view!”

Lup hollers from his side and without really thinking he slips into action like they’re searching for The Light again and not for a member of their family. His arm shoots out and Lup hops up, she’s just as nimble as ever and takes no time using Magnus as a springboard to launch herself further into the room. A hail of sparks drops off from her fingers as she readies a spell and enters the temple like a shooting star.

Magnus is, of course, quickly making up the distance but pauses to scan the room, he trusts Lup to take out any immediate danger while he finds Lucretia. He spins twice as he runs, dodging a volley of sacred flame and crying out, “ _LUCRETIA?_ ”

He makes a beeline for the shield, while Lup takes out nearly anyone in the immediate vicinity that isn’t one of their own. Fire flies over his head but Magnus has no fear of being singed, they’re a well-oiled machine, his family, even if a few years off the cuff he still trusts Lup intrinsically. If he gets caught in friendly fire it’ll be because of an enemy or his own damn self not moving fast enough.

At the end of the day, and by the gods, this has been a _long_ day, it’s really only collateral if you care about it.

He spots her just as he pulls the flaming raging poisoning sword of doom from his back, in the very center of the bubble. For a moment, panic steals the breath from his lungs because she’s so _still_ and a figure looms over her prone form--There’s blood on her face and it sets the blood in his veins aflame. He pulls back as far as he can and swings as hard as he’s able and his sword crashes against the barrier so loudly his ears ring. Once, twice, three times and the only change are little hairline fractures.

He’s not fast enough--He’s never going to be fast enough and this just keeps _happening_ to everyone he loves.

Before he can wind up for his fourth swing a plume of flame lights just beside the mark of where his own strikes have connected. He has to stagger back, or else be singed as twin flames beginning white and orange but fueling each other into a bright blue heat. The barrier warps slightly beneath the assault, like a pond rippling from a pebble and Magnus takes a deep breath before swinging once more in unison with the twin’s second blast of flames.

The final crash is almost deafening yet, that isn’t the noise that grabs Magnus’ attention--That prize goes to Barry, lurking high above them in his role of providing cover and retrieving intel on unknown magical phenomena like back in the century. There is no cry of victory at the barrier breaking coming from above them. Against the twin whoops of Taako and Lup, Barry _screams_ ,

“ _ **NO!**_ ”

Barry is crashing down like a meteorite against the barrier, shattering through the last little bits still holding on to corporeality. Before Magnus can do anything more than taking a step forward, it’s _Barry_ who catches the elf who seemed to lead the ceremony. Magnus rushes forward in time to watch Barry slam the elf against the ground and proceed to dig his heel into the cult leader’s solar plexus,

“That wasn’t the astral plane! Where the _fuck_ did you send her?!”

Magnus watches Barry press his not inconsiderable weight forward when the elf doesn’t answer. There is a horrible wheezing sound and something like a crack before the reaper lets up the pressure. The sound, hacking, and coughing that the elf makes shouldn’t sound so satisfying. With no mind for the freshly inflicted injuries, Barry reaches down and grabs the collar of the elf’s robes, shaking them roughly. Barry growls out an almost inhuman sounding, “Answer me!”

There’s a hysterical tilt to the resounding laugh, as Barry lifts the elf to their feet by the collar of their vestments, “You’re too late!”

They’re giggling, even as Lup releases a downright feral shriek and throws herself forward. She manages one hand lashed against their face before Taako grabs her around the waist and yanks her away. Three fine pin prick lines of blood begin to dribble down the laughing elf’s face.

“Barold! Let Maggie be the muscle, I need some fuckin’ _help_ here!” Taako yelps as his sister turns her fists just as quickly against his hands against her middle. There’s a string of expletives from Taako as he winces against his sister’s nails, though this time no blood is drawn. She’s just as frantic but still in a frame of mind not to truly hurt her brother, more pawing than clawing as she tries desperately to wriggle away.

“Let me go, Taako! Let me kill that bastard!” She’s shrieking even as a sob hiccups out of her throat, “Lucretia! They killed Lucretia!”

“We--We don’t know that, not for _sure_.” Taako’s voice cracks, and it seems to take him off guard just as much as Lup as she finally goes limp in his arms. The sudden deadweight pulls them both to the ground, Lup twists in Taako’s hold and leeches onto him to muffle a sob into his shoulder. Taako looks stricken, running his hands desperately through Lup’s hair and murmuring assurances.

With everyone distracted by Lup, the cultist takes the opportunity to rip free from Barry’s grip, they stumble up, grinning mad and laughing still. However, the moment they take a step towards Lucretia’s fallen form a flash of metallic flies through the air and they clutch at their side. The hilt of Davenport's dagger shines bright gold against the slowly spreading crimson on silver cloth.

“You all--You all underestimate My Lady’s power! I have merely freed her from mortal tethers for either Lucretia is a god or could kill a god,” The cultist stares curiously at the protruding blade before erupting into another set of giggles, they look up only long enough to stare the gnome in the eyes as they unceremoniously _yank_ out the dagger, “I do not care if there is a difference!”

Magnus can’t take it any longer, he sprints to Lucretia’s side, and Merle is close on his heels extreme teen bible held aloft and already murmuring the required phrases for a healing spell. Magnus watches the magic wash over her and he recognizes the telltale tiny welts and cuts of manacles begin to heal. The human kneels down beside her, holding a palm over her mouth as he hunches down to rest his head against her chest.

No breathing but a weak heartbeat.

He tilts Lucretia’s face, grimacing slightly at the blood smeared across it but doesn’t hesitate much further as he begins rescue breathing for her. Merle’s frantic muttering increases in fervor but every time Magnus checks her vitals again they just get weaker and weaker. Desperately, he looks over to Merle who looks nearly on the brink of tears himself as he flips page after page looking for something-- _anything_ stronger.

The third time Magnus checks vitals, he can’t feel her heartbeat anymore--And he thinks his might just stop too when he feels a hand on his shoulder pulling him back as he starts compressions. It’s Barry, staring at Lucretia’s downed form with a look of shellshock, “She’s not in--You’re gonna have to pull her _back_.”

He doesn’t really understand--not until Barry holds a diamond in his open palm, carefully leaning over Magnus to gently place it on the center of Lucretia’s chest. Merle makes a choking noise beside them, something like a sob and a very gentle, “Oh Pan, _no_.”

That’s when something in him just _snaps_ , Magnus stands abruptly letting Merle take his place immediately adjacent to Lucretia’s body. Barry watches him warily, waiting for him to cry or scream but even though Magnus can feel tears swimming behind his eyes and a sob curled in the back of his throat he finds himself silent. There’s nothing he can say to himself, nothing he can say to his family that can make this better.

But there is something he _wants_ to say.

Magnus turns on heel, moves away from Lucretia but still close enough that he can flee to her side at any moment. His steps are sure and harsh as his eyes fall on the cultist leader, just barely standing with one hand pressed against their wounded stomach. Magnus feels a vicious sense of vindication as he rears back a fist and lets it fly, connecting with the elf’s nose and knocking them back to the ground.

Once they’re down, Magnus wastes no time pressing his boot against the monster’s neck. No one moves to stop him so he leans down, making sure that the elf is looking him directly in the eye before he speaks,

“We’ve got the strongest cleric in the entire fucking planar system here with us. If he can’t bring her back after whatever you’ve done I’m going to _crush_ you. Then he’s going to bring _you_ back, and I’m going to do it _again_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost there!!!!! Y'all will find out where Cretia's soul ended up next chapter which should be out in the next few days.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up! This is, sort of, a double update as I updated yesterday so if you only got an email for chapter twelve make sure you read chapter eleven or you're going to be a little confused and also miss some really good stuff. No warnings for this chapter!

It’s not so much like waking from a dream as it is being violently jolted out of a doze. Wheels churning beneath her accompanied by the steady hum of an engine overwhelms her mind as all at once her senses go from unresponsive to oversensitive. Lucretia comes to on a train, blinks at the ceilings with clear confusion as a soft voice drifts above her, "You know, I hadn't really expected to see one of you again so soon."

She’s almost certain she’s on the ground, she remembers laying on the ground, hard and _so cold_ \--but it’s almost _soft_ here, soft and warm and the light that filters in feels like _real_ sunshine. Lucretia can’t _remember_ the last time she’s felt sunlight on her skin. It’s a balm to the frantic nature of her mind, permission to just relax if only for a moment.

So she allows herself to languish in the comfort for just a few moments.

Then she attempts to push herself up and gasps at the pain that racks her entire form. She curls up on her side in mere moments and hisses out a tiny mewling cry. In response, the warmth around her grows in intensity until it leeches some of the pain from her bones. The voice above her soothes, “I know you’re a little worse for wear right now and I’m very sorry about that, Lucretia.”

Lucretia? Yes, that’s her name. She is Lucretia and she’s very lost at this particular moment. She doesn’t think she’s ever been on this train before, but she knows it’s important for something. To someone? To her family? That’s right, she’s been here before once with her family.

“You can stay here a little longer, I can try and put something together for you but I’m afraid I need to start from scratch. Even my power can’t undo what was done to your soul, in its current state it’ll just burn right through your old body.”

 _Home._ Lucretia wants to go home.

“Yes, that’s fair. I’ll give you a bit of a push to get back to Faerun but you’ll need to rest for a bit once you're back. This new form of yours will take a lot of getting used to. Think hard of where you want to go and it'll take you there.”

It isn’t a portal like Lucretia has ever seen, the rips between planes that the reapers cleave are neater somehow. This little pocket of space that Lucretia has torn open has edges so jagged she’s almost afraid to let her limbs clip them, less a tear and more a gaping maw. It’s completely disparate from the soft setting around her, clearly suited for this gentle place.

But Lucretia finds some comfort in it, it isn’t gentle but she can feel deep in her very soul that it is _hers_.

She knows she has summoned this on her own, the voice may guide her to the motions but the will is all hers. Within her the will to go home because she is so tired churns and strains against her body’s need to finally _rest_ \--but Lucretia can’t dwell on that now. Her mind is reeling, her brain buzzes with energy, her body practically rattles with power. It feels almost like The Light buzzing through to her very core but somehow _more_ intense.

She blinks a portal into existence, sawtooth and menacing and thinks of home as she falls down into it. For a split moment she drifts in nothingness, everything feels topsy-turvy and upside down but then Lucretia breathes feels her body righted. She knows where her hands and feet are and when she looks at them, little lights dance upon her palms. _Home,_ she thinks again and the glimmers glow brighter and brighter and flutter through the air like flower petals caught on a breeze. Lucretia follows them, the light is warm and the glow feels like home.

Where _is_ home? The little beacon knows the way, ushers her forward like an old friend. It finally stops and buzzes in place. Lucretia stares at it, truly _looks_ and knows suddenly. “Thank you,” she whispers so softly to the force that shepherded her family through a century of hardship, “For finding _me_ this time.”

The portal that opens is still jagged and harsh, but there’s a lightness to that wasn’t present in her first one. She reaches out, one last time and the brilliant flickers ghost over her hand, kissing her fingertips and leaving a soft glow where they touch. It still lingers against her hand as Lucretia lets herself fall back through her fissure between the planes.

Her feet are cold when she stumbles out, bereft of shoes and she feels colder still in the once fine but now tattered robes she had been dressed in before the ceremony. It’s a small thought, _I am cold. I would like to be warm_ but it flits through her mind and light flourishes around her toes. It molds around them and Lucretia watches somewhat in awe, so preoccupied that she misses the way her dress does the same, a slow change from rags to fine iridescent blue robes.

Home? Where is home? The thought flickers until she spots her family and stumbles forward, warm but suddenly impossibly tired. Drained and flagging after creating not one but two portals while already exhausted. Her clumsy staggering finally catches the attention of her family in the center of the ritual circle.

Lucretia frowns, that circle isn’t safe.

They’re all huddled close and even from this distance, she can hear the shocked cries as eyes land on her form. It must be strange, she thinks, because she feels strange and not entirely there, like a willowisp floating through a forest, glowing soft and distant.

She steps closer. She wants to be with them and it is the most intense thought she thinks she’s ever felt. More than safety or failed plans, she wants her _family_. Then, suddenly, she is not twenty feet away she is simply on the edge of the circle. Lup and Barry cling to each other but at the sight of her, Barry’s hand moves as if to summon his scythe but there’s hesitance in the motion. Taako swears, loudly and colorfully, and falls backward, only caught at the last moment by a gaping Merle whose face is stained with tear tracks. Davenport is silent and wide-eyed, the hand clasped onto Magnus' shoulder suddenly tightening but Magnus doesn’t look up.

Lucretia moves closer, her footsteps leave no sound and her family parts before her like the red sea. All but Magnus who remains crouched in the very center of the circle. As she settles beside him she finally realizes that he is holding a body, clutching it so tightly she thinks the person must have a hard time breathing.

“Oh,” She breathes softly, eyes falling on white hair and a wrinkled face, “Is--Is that me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, I've been waiting for these scenes since the VERY BEGINNING of this fic. Lucretia's 'talk' with Jeffandrew was actually one of the first completed portions of this fic though it ended up going through some MAJOR overhaul. I also very much loved writing The Light of Creation guiding Lucretia back to her loved ones one last time.
> 
> We're really REALLY in the final stretch now. Probably one MAYBE two chapters at most but don't worry! I do have plans to turn this work into a series whether it be a full on sequel or one-shots within the universe so be prepared for those soon!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real warnings for this chapter beyond some heads-up for implied offscreen violence and the usual 'everyone is panicking and in a Not Great headspace' that's pretty much been this entire fic.

Magnus blinks because this is pretty much it, this is him going insane. It’s a little overdue not necessarily because he hasn't been through worse but that he’s managed to hold everything together for so long. His whole body shudders and a sob catches in his throat, as emotion overwhelms any sense of rational thought in his mind. If the world had any kind of fairness to it he _should_ be able to catch a break at some point. That’s what he thought saving the whole planar system gave him, a chance to heal and have peace. Yet here Lucretia is breathless and lifeless in his arms and Lucretia is also leaning down next to him, her hair _shining white_ with a face two decades younger and one decade older than it should be.

They stare at each other and he finds his voice first, “L-Lucretia?”

His words come out lilting with hope and choked with grief. Hesitation wracks his entire mind because surely this is too good. This can’t be Lucretia, it’s something else. The being standing beside him is a trick or figment of his own grieving mind but she opens her mouth, and it’s Lucretia’s voice. There’s a rasp of disuse, one almost familiar from bad years when she would hole herself up alone and stay silent for days. More than that though, there’s a hesitance to it that isn’t The Director, it’s all just _Lucretia_.

“I—um, I saw Jeffandrew. He said he couldn’t fix my body but I didn’t really expect _this_.”

Her voice trembles just as much as his own, faltering and halting in odd pauses. She hasn’t blinked yet, just staring with too bright eyes that make Magnus’ own hopes falter. Her irises are the same rich warm brown they’ve always been but her pupils aren’t black, instead, they’re the same strange starlight white as her hair. He can’t quite stare at them directly for too long, it almost feels like staring into the sun.

Magnus thinks Lucretia must be slipping into shock as she slowly lowers herself to the ground. She’s not quite sitting, still mostly kneeling as she stares at the body in Magnus’ arms, as she stares at her own body. He can’t help the way he shifts almost instinctively, holds Lucretia—the first Lucretia a little closer.

He hears Lucretia’s laugh, high and tight. It borders somewhere frantic and manic. It startles him more than anything because it’s a laugh he hasn’t heard in years. He can see the corners of Lucretia’s eyes creasing, can hear the hysterical lilt as she stares at her older form. It breaks the silence that fills the half-wrecked temple but for the sound of his family’s breathing some ragged, some panicked, and some miraculous to be breathing at all.

“I missed Angus’ birthday.”

It’s so utterly benign of a statement, so completely out of nowhere in the face of everything that Magnus stammers, “No--No, that’s not for another few weeks, Lucretia.”

Her brows crease and Magnus notices with an odd sort of feeling in his chest that those are glowing just like the hair on her head. Lucretia glances from the body--Gods, the body it’s still warm--down to her hands and tallies there. “I--I was gone for,” She hesitates, voice faltering as her limbs begin to tremble, “For a month or a little more, wasn’t I?”

“Lucy,” Lup interjects softly and _finally_ someone besides Magnus steps into the situation which is good because--because he’s shaking too. Lup unlinks her arm from Barry’s and steps forward with slow, deliberate steps. Her hands are held up in supplication like she’s approaching a startled horse. She is, sort of, because Lucretia looks so very _fragile_ , “You were gone for eight days, nine at the most, hun.”

There’s a painful, _heart-wrenching_ look that flashes over Lucretia’s face and--and again it just startles Magnus how _young_ she looks. How young she is? This Lucretia seems so much closer to his vulnerable Lucy from their early years than the aloof and distant Director. It hits him right in his chest and makes his hands almost spasm with pent up frantic energy. The sudden grasping thought nearly strangles him, what does any of this even mean? Are they all going to blink too hard and find that this Lucretia is just a dream or worse a sick joke from that damned cultish elf.

A fragment of their past, a pale shadow of their friend, a ghost come to haunt them. She can be any of those things, Magnus wouldn’t dare complain if it just means that he doesn’t have to lose her too.

“No--No, I kept track of that,” He watches what must have been the thin veneer of calm slowly slide off her face as her hands track up and up to tug at her short curls, “It wasn’t exact but I _knew_.”

Her shivering only grows stronger as she insists, frantic voice cracking and finally, finally Magnus slowly pries himself away from Lucretia--From the _body_ , setting her so very gently upon the ground and pivoting himself. His arms are stretched out wide and when the other Lucretia--The living Lucretia practically falls into them his heart sings with relief. She’s warm, she’s breathing, and she feels so _alive_. If this is an illusion it’s a damn powerful one.

If this isn’t that means he’s not a goddamned _failure_ this time.

“It’s okay--It’s okay, I’ve got you, Luce.” He murmurs reassurances and nonsense and a million other things as he holds tight to his friend. He feels a damp spot grow in the crook of his neck where Lucretia’s face is pressed and along with it an odd sort of _warmth_. Too hot to be tears and when Magnus cranes his head to glance down he has to squint against the brightening light of Lucretia’s hair, lit up like a hearth.

That’s something to consider _later_.

He glances up, one hand still gently stroking Lucretia’s back as his eyes roam desperately between his family members. The silence over the IPRE is nearly overbearing, but once again Lup moves first, brave and heedless of any challenge. She crouches down beside him, leans into his bulk, and slithers under his arm to wrap her own around Lucretia who shudders, hunching over further.

“Hey there, Lucy Lu. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Lup speaks so softly that Magnus is almost certain that it’s only his immediate proximity that allows him to hear her at all. He holds them both closer, resettling so that the two of them are practically in his lap. The weight is grounding, reminding him that they’re all here and alive and if he just looks only at them and not at his surrounding he can pretend that none of this happened.

Lup nudges his shoulder with her own, sparing him a small glance before she refocuses solely on Lucretia. Lithe elven hands gently disentangle Lucretia’s too bony fingers from her hair, Lup smooths down the curls herself. Her hands rove a bit more, mapping the sudden youth of their friend’s face, the lack of lines that Magnus had only recently really gotten used to. Lup’s fingertips linger on Lucretia’s cheeks as she whispers, “You made it back to us, I don’t--I don’t really know how you did it but Gods I’m just so grateful you’re back, okay?”

Lucretia makes another noise, quiet and muffled and Magnus doesn’t really think it’s proper words but it’s acknowledgment. That’s good since he’s almost certain she’s in shock--He might also be in shock but he’s just compartmentalizing all that right now.

There’s a noise beside him and Magnus glances up to see Barry leaning over Lucretia--The _other_ Lucretia and it takes all of his self-control not to immediately move to stop him. That surge of protectiveness isn’t really against Barry, he trusts Barry but there’s this deep-rooted fear that if anyone disturbs the--the _corpse_ that this whole illusion will shatter. That the Lucretia in his arms will vanish and they’ll be left with just the cooling husk.

Still Barry makes eye contact and grimaces, he makes a gesture as if to summon his scythe but doesn’t actually go through with it and it makes a vague handwave over towards the twin statues where--Magnus pivots his body suddenly, startling a squeak out of Lup and a yelp from Lucretia which he quickly hushes with a series of murmurs.

Barry’s got a point even if he can’t quite articulate it without potentially startling Lucretia further, it’s probably not good for her to see the corpses. Since they snagged the cult leader’s soul there was little use in keeping the body, though Magnus has a flash of regret as it occurs to him that perhaps Lucretia might have needed some semblance of proof that her captor is actually gone. It hadn’t really been a priority in the span of time between her apparent passing and miraculous return and Magnus will admit that his reaction had been _messy._

Not much left to identify now, less worth keeping around if it will only traumatize Lucretia further. Magnus trusts Barry and nods, if anyone can treat Lucretia’s body with the care it needs in case anything goes wrong it’s Barry, already conjuring a stasis spell with one hand and ripping a portal open with the other. The tear rips through the silence but Lucretia barely flinches, it does, however, seem to spook the rest of the crew into action.

Merle is the next to move forward, canting his short but wide frame so that even if Lucretia does look up she won’t spot the bloody mess further behind them. “Hey there, sweetheart it’s good to have you back can I get a look at you? Is that alright?”

Merle waits patiently as Lup extricates herself just enough for the dwarf to get in on their little huddle and lay a hand delicately over Lucretia’s chest. His face appears sedate and controlled but Magnus can see the panic still lingering in his eyes. Merle had felt the life leave Lucretia’s body just as much as he had, watched her slip away beneath their fingers. It makes sense to see that same fearful hope in Merle’s expression as he tentatively sends a wave of magic over their friend.

The sudden flash of light is nearly blinding, it has Magnus curling around Lup and Lucretia protectively. Ready to be their literal shield if it comes down to it but when the light fades there’s no attacker, only Merle looking dazed with his hand crackling with strange bubbles of energy. Merle blinks twice, glancing at Lucretia, then his hand, then back at Lucretia again with his mouth agape.

“Alllllrighty then, so healing magic is off the table for the moment but your vitals seemed steady for the second I could feel them,” Merle’s words falter for a hair's breadth as Lucretia looks up but after moment of floundering seems to find his voice again, “You said uh, The Big J.A. gave you a boost?”

“ _Yes?_ ”

When finally Lucretia speaks it’s like a dissonant chord like there are seven layers all overlapping each other at a different frequency and none of them match. Lup’s ears swivel rapidly and Magnus can hear Taako swearing up a storm along with Davenport’s much quieter series of curses behind him. He’s not sure if he should be hearing something different but while it sounds _odd_ there’s nothing so painful to his ears. Startling, perhaps, but he knows his sense of hearing isn’t nearly so sensitive as an elf or a gnome’s.

“There’s something wrong with me,” she pauses and seems to register the bizarre sound of her own voice as a hand reaches up to touch her throat. There’s another little bubble, a smaller flash of light, less a flash grenade and more prestidigitation. This time when she speaks there’s still something there he can’t quite put his finger on but it’s more of an echo if anything, “Bastion did something to my soul. Jeffandrew said my--my body wouldn’t be able to handle it so they must have given me a new one?”

Davenport cuts in,“Let’s--Let’s get you back up to the base.” 

It doesn’t startle Magnus but it does startle Lucretia who blinks wide-eyed as the gnome falls in line beside Merle. Their captain reaches out, hand nearly trembling as Lucretia meets his half way. She looks cautiously between the hand grasped in her own and the gnome himself before a small sound chokes it’s way from her throat as she nods.

“I-I want to go _home_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, so uh, you know how I thought I was almost at the end??? Well chapters are running a little long because muse decided to make a liar out of me so here have a chapter that's like twice as long as usual and probably there will be one or two more before I move on to sequel stuff. I still haven't quite decided if the sequel will be it's own longfic or smaller individual fics in a series though I'm leaning towards the latter at the moment.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for some disassociation on Lucretia's part and also nudity I guess but it isn't really described.

The first thing that greets Lucretia as Merle and Magnus carefully guide her out of a transport bubble is a small figure wholesale tackling her with energy fueled by a week's worth of distress and anxiety. She yelps as the small human sends her tumbling to the ground in a heap of limbs and shock blankets.

“You’re okay! I-I was so worried! I looked for you so hard but I c-couldn’t find any clues, I’m sorry!!”

Lucretia breaths in the scent of Angus’ shampoo and a freshly laundered little suit and practically curls around the boy. She doesn’t really have words, there’s just a little too much overwhelming her but contact must be a comfort, she thinks. She holds Angus close and runs her hands through his hair and over his face only pausing slightly to stare at his glasses for a hair of a moment too long.

“ _Angus._ ”

She can’t quite choke out any more words but fills his name with as much emotion as she’s able. As much warmth as she can muster from her exhausted being as Angus’ head shoots up suddenly and he just _stares_ at her.

Oh, Lucretia remembers, she does look rather different now, doesn’t she?

Small hands find purchase on her cheeks, where wrinkles had surely been the last time Angus saw her, “Lucretia?”

His voice wobbles, unsure and it tugs at Lucretia’s heartstrings even as she can’t quite find the proper words to reassure him. Instead, she holds him closer, presses her face into his soft curls and just breaths. She thinks she might be shaking again, she can certainly feel tears leaking out onto Angus’ mop of hair. Everything is just a little too much but she can’t let go of him, not when he’s clinging to her just as tightly.

She can hear a small cacophony in the hallway beyond the transport room, can hear Davenport’s voice high and commanding as he insists that the director needs medical attention before she’s crowded. Arms encircle her waist and before she realizes what’s happening Magnus has hoisted both her and Angus up off the floor.

“Hey, you’re both good. Everyone’s safe, let's get us all checked out then we can go and chill.” Magnus’ deep voice reverberates through his chest and buzzes through Lucretia’s limbs.

They don’t make their way to the infirmary or even to Lucretia’s private quarters, instead they all pile into the boy’s old private suite. Lucretia had arranged for the rooms to be well kept as disregarding Taako, who had quickly vacated his former living quarters, Merle tends towards using his old rooms for storage and Magnus still stays in the rooms when visiting the bureau. They might actually be better put together than her own private quarters, considering her habit towards neglect of her own needs.

Lucretia ends up swaddled like an infant, a fuzzy quilt encasing her entire body as she lays across the couch. She is not by any means alone however, as her torso nestles against Magnus’ side, her legs drape across Lup’s, and her feet are propped up on Merle’s lap. There’s some quiet arguing over food that makes Lucretia attempt to sink back into the cushions. By the end of Taako and Angus lightly bickering over the former’s ability to cook something medically considered ‘light’ versus the merits of comfort food, Davenport scolds both of them for not keeping their voices down and pulls up his sleeves to cook something himself.

Lucretia can’t actually remember the last time she had any of Davenport’s cooking, he’d learned most of his culinary skills in the military and she had taken all of those memories away. When she’s presented with a warm chicken broth seasoned just a smidge too heavily, because the person who made it is used to military rations instead of cooking fresh, she feels tears welling up again.

Everyone politely ignores that she’s crying while she eats, at least verbally. Magnus rubs light circles onto her back, Lup taps an unfamiliar rhythm onto her thighs, and Merle pats her on the ankle when she happens to make eye contact. She’s not sure how long she stays settled with them, she really can’t trust her internal clock anymore but she dozes once, then twice, then when she wakes up a third time she finds the lights have all been turned off. Merle is nowhere to be found, in his place sits Angus snoring softly. Lup snores far louder beside him, one arm wrapped around his shoulder. Behind her, Magnus’ steady breathing rumbles out and the room sounds with the quiet symphony of her sleeping family.

Everything is so peaceful and Lucretia gently disentangles herself from them. Magnus and Lup, heavy sleepers that they are, the two barely notice her movements but Angus huffs at the disturbance. It makes Lucretia freeze before ever so carefully taking the blanket she had been bundled in and draping it over his form. That seems to settle him and as carefully as she’s able, Lucretia tiptoes across the main room and into the nearest bathroom.

Lucretia stares at her face in the mirror, the first time she’s actually seen herself in weeks—in a week she corrects herself. Two if she’s being generous to herself, and she very rarely is. Even when she’d neglected so many things she’d always maintained an appearance of strength because if she didn’t then people would pry.

Taako and Lup always referred to the trait as the ability to _‘fake it till you make it’_ and Lucretia has become rather proficient in it over the years.

It occurs to Lucretia that she’s in rather desperate need of a shower after going without for a—a week. New body or not she can still feel the grime of temple dirt under her fingernails and it’s rattling her more than she’s letting on. It also gives her the chance to stare in the mirror and see a face that shouldn’t exist, which is off-putting. Just a bit.

Her current visage is one that she never actually had the chance to wear, stolen by the twins of wonderland, it has been something of a recurring speculative piece during some of her rougher nights. She’s painted portrait after portrait over the years but none of them ever felt like self-portraits and yet now the face she had agonized over never knowing is just _here_. There’s a part of her that feels like it should be something to be happy about but--but this wasn’t her _choice_.

This face isn’t something she’s worked for or earned.

If she tries to distance the entire thing then it’s something she’s stumbled into, if she doesn’t and blames Bastion it’s just another archetype she’s been shoved into. Was this Bastion’s plan all along, to turn her into this, return her to the most ‘natural’ state of her being with some bullshit added touches of poisonous divinity? Or is all of this just an accidental side effect of Jeffandrew’s limited grasp on the situation.

It’s a face, it’s _her_ face even. The one that’s haunted her for so long but now any satisfaction she might have felt has been leached from her bones. It’s almost a little funny, there are fewer wrinkles objectively speaking but the dark circles under her eyes that she had mostly tamed in her time after wonderland are back in full force. Or perhaps they aren’t, perhaps they’re simply shadows from the fact that her white hair which has always reflected light so well at certain angles now shines with a bioluminescence not unlike Fischer’s.

She is thirty instead of fifty. She is _something_ instead of human and that is distressing.

Just a bit.

She ambles into the shower, turns on the water and lets it run for nearly a minute, scalding against her skin before she realizes she’s still wearing the damned white robes. Fabric tears as she forces the thing from her body, it doesn’t matter how much she altered it with her own magic--It still smells like that place. _She_ still smells like Bastion and her prison, which shouldn’t even work because she wasn’t--this _body_ wasn’t there. This body is new, but it doesn’t _feel_ like it. Yes, some of her aches and pains from Wonderland are gone but mostly they’re just replaced with different ones just as deeply visceral.

“I’m fine,” She insists, squinting up against the spray of water, “It was a week, only a _week_.”

She survived a year by herself, didn’t she? A year that was worse than this, wasn’t it? She survived and she was fine except she _wasn’t_ , not really. She doesn’t know if she’s been fine since the day she watched Tosun eaten by The Hunger but what is there to be _done_ about it? She just has to keep moving. It’s what she’s always had to do and what about this is any different?

She’s alone? Or she will be, she supposes, once her family settles down their fussing and they all leave her again. That’s _very_ different.

The water is still running, she’s no longer standing under it even if she can still feel it patter onto her legs. At some point she--she fell? She’s on the ground and she doesn’t remember sitting down but she’s laying on the cool tile when suddenly the door slams open. Taako fills the entranceway of the bathroom, eyes wide and ears swiveling in concern, “ _Lucretia_ \--Fuck, you’re not even old anymore, did you fall and break a hip? Do we have to worry about that?!”

Her voice cracks, discordant and inhuman “ _I-I don’t know?_ ”

There’s the shuffling of feet on tile but Lucretia’s rather zoned out for the second time in the short-- _Has it only been a few minutes or a few hours? Can she trust her own sense of time anymore or has Bastion ruined that part of her as well?_ \--short time since she’s been in the shower. Before she really understands what’s happening Taako reaches in, turning off the water before stepping inside, “Okay, never say Taako didn’t do anything for you, I’m getting my fantasy Gucci shoes wet to pull your magically geriatric ass off this cold shower floor.”

With an overdramatic sound of effort that Lucretia is certain is exaggerated Taako hooks his arms beneath her elbows and pulls her out of the shower. Considering this body isn’t any less malnourished than her last one, she knows the sound of such obvious effort is feigned but can’t for the life of her understand why. Taako gives her a brief once over, ears twitching with a slight wince when his eyes linger on her visible ribs. Lucretia tugs her legs up, circling her arms around them and hiding the majority of her body from view.

She’s not a pity case, she doesn’t have a lot of pride left but _Taako_ of all people shouldn’t be swayed by this sorry state she’s in.

“Let’s get you dressed again,” He starts but pauses when the only scrap of clothing in the room is the very much tattered dress Lucretia had torn off herself earlier. She hadn’t noticed it, but now that it isn’t touching her it seems to have lost whatever restorative magic she had pumped into it unconsciously hours earlier. Taako picks up the garment with the same sort of dismay one would have when picking up possibly radioactive waste, “Of course that asshole would dress the world’s third-best wizard in a damned _moo-moo_.”

“Th-Third?”

“Oh, you may have some punch but you’re still behind me and Lup. Don’t tell Barry I put you ahead of him though, he’ll whine about it.”

Taako gives the robe another look over, running his fingers over the once fine material and stopping suddenly when his gaze hits the ruddy brown speckling around the wrists. Towards the end of her captivity, she’d started getting stir crazy and desperate to be out of her manacles. She hadn’t thought much of it then, though Bastion had hemmed and hawed over the damage.

Really, that might have made her a little _more_ reckless in her attempts to wriggle free, filled with vinegar and spite as was.

“Hey, Creesh? You wanna burn this?” His voice is so deceptively calm that for a moment Lucretia almost thinks it must be a joke. Taako’s still so angry at her, it’s one thing to pull her nearly catatonic self from the shower so she doesn’t accidentally drown. It seems like another to offer something that sounds so— _so cathartic_.

She opens her mouth to say no, to reject the offer because it must be a trap and she can’t handle that right now. She’s self-aware enough to know how frail she is emotionally in this moment even if she would rather die a second time before admitting it out loud. Taako’s hot and cold nature is just a little too much for her right now. When she opens her mouth she means to articulate how pointless and childish an endeavor it would be but instead a sound escapes her throat without any regard for her pride.

A hiccuping whine fills the room and she’s nodding because it _deserves_ to burn. She died in that dress and it shouldn’t exist and yet it does in the strange dual state. There’s a distinct stab to her heart at the fact that Jeffandrew made her an entirely new body but they left her in that robe. It’s some kind of proof that they must be a god of some sort because only the gods are that thoughtlessly _cruel_ even in their kindness.

“Hey, easy there, Creesh,” Taako’s hands are soft and well manicured as one hand tilts her chin up and the other gently pats the side of her face, “Stay on target, mkay? This beautiful face of mine isn’t here to be _ignored_.”

It’s such a dissonance, the last time she’d seen Taako was at the previous Candlenights where he’d refused to speak to her and only directed a single scathing sentence to her specifically albeit indirectly, but still loud enough that she could hear him from her hiding spot out on Magnus’ porch.

“ _Why?_ ”

“Jeezy creezy, this has been such a _buck wild_ day, Lucy and you’re gonna make me talk about my feelings?” There’s a legitimate strain in Taako’s voice, the first time he’s shown any since that first squawking exclamation when he’d stumbled in on her. Normally, it’s a sign that one needs to back off, Taako never does well cornered but Lucretia doesn’t break eye contact. She _needs_ to know if this is a trap or not, needs to know what walls to piece together out of her scattered mind.

Instead of snapping like she expects, Taako just _sighs_ , “Ya know I’ve kind of been telling myself that I’d stay angry at you ‘till you died and—and I just had to stand and _watch_ you die today so like, maybe there are gonna be times when I'm angry at you again at some point but for right now I’m just, I’m so angry _for_ you.”

Taako pulls off his own elegant sleep robe and gently tugs her arms through the sleeves, “I think you deserve a little break from the Taako Anger Train or whatever.”

He helps her up, grabs a towel off one of the shelves and wraps it around her head like he’s setting her up for a spa day. It pulls a nearly hysterical giggle out of her at the absurdity of _Taako_ of all people being so gentle with her. He’s still holding her hand when he leads her back out into the suite, though they take a pitstop in his room to find her something to wear.

“As much as I’m sure Maggie wouldn’t mind lending you a shirt to sleep in let's find you something that actually feels like clothes and not swimming in your bestie’s dirty laundry.”

He fishes through his closet and manages to pull out what appears to be a cashmere sweater and a pair of shorts she’s _certain_ were once hers to begin with. She squints at them slightly, she doesn’t actually remember sending Taako off with this particular article of clothing when she loaded his wagon. She raises a single, glowing eyebrow and he shrugs,

“So I might have stolen some of your shit when you gave us free reign to grab our stuff from the Starblaster. I was feeling a little petty, I’ll send it all back in a gift basket or something.”

She still keeps his robe, even after she changes into the sweater and shorts. Wraps it around herself like armor as she’s guided into the suite’s kitchen. Taako seems a bit more chipper to be back in his natural habitat of sorts, even if he scoffs at the meager offerings in the fridge and pantries. He snaps both fingers and Lucretia can’t help the small smile that forms on her face as various foodstuffs transmutate from one form to Taako’s desired one.

“We’re gonna get you some _real_ food but you’ve gotta eat it slow otherwise Merle and Agnes are gonna be on my ass if you get sick.”

Lucretia yawns, though she manages to nod as she settles onto one of the kitchen chairs and watches Taako work. It’s so peaceful, she can hear Lup’s snores coming from the living room behind her a much-missed counterpoint to the gentle clanking of Taako puttering about the kitchen. Before she knows it she’s leaning forward against the table, eyes drifting closed and drifting a bit herself. Not quite asleep but not quite awake, just straying right on the line between sleep and wakefulness.

Then the scent catches in her nose and she’s wide awake and scrambling out of her chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Says I'm almost done and the proceeds to write a chapter nearly three times longer than normal that only wraps up like ONE of the plot points I needed to get to.
> 
> LORD.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another warning for panic attacks but otherwise tentatively

Magnus wakes up to the sound of a panicked scream, followed by a sudden crash and clatter of wood and glass against the tile. He’s off the couch in mere moments, vaulting over the back and reaching for a weapon he hadn’t actually kept on him. Lup is hot at her heels and hands hot with brandished flames, but they aren’t greeted by any sort of intruder.

Instead, they see a kitchen in utter disarray with the table, all of its contents, and all of it’s chairs overturned. His eyes land on Lucretia practically huddled into a ball with a white barrier shining so brightly that Magnus swears it’s gonna be seared into his eyeballs for the next hour. Her shoulders shake softly and he hears the faint sound of muffled crying.

“Taako! Taako, what the hell happened in here?”

It’s hard to keep the hint of accusation out of his voice. It’s just that after the week they’ve had, after the year and a half of behavior he’s witnessed of Taako’s brief and wholly caustic interactions with Lucretia not to assume. Still however strong the impulse, Magnus _knows_ Taako. He trusts Taako and Gods be damned Taako isn’t one to kick someone while they’re down--Or well, he is but not like _this_.

Taako, to his credit, looks just as frazzled as Magnus feels. His ears are pushed so far back and down Magnus can barely see them poking out from his mess of beach curls. He’s holding a wooden spoon in one hand with a death grip better suited for a magical foci and his hands shake as he takes one step forwards towards Lucretia, “I--I’ve got no fuckin’ clue! I-I was being _nice_ and she was just, like, I managed to calm her down then she just woke up and flipped her shit!”

Lup moves with purpose but when she goes to press a hand against barrier the glow brightens for one blinding moment. Suddenly, she scrambles back, yelping in pain, “What the _actual_ fuck?!”

The barrier grows impossibly brighter, so much so Magnus has to shield his eyes until it softens back to a dull glow. When Magnus can open his eyes again Lup is shaking her hand while swearing up a storm. The litany of curses peters out into mongoose in a particularly creative fashion as she stares down at her hand. Magnus’ eyes follow the same path and it steals the breath from his lungs when he sees _skeletal_ fingers at the end of Lup’s sleeve.

“That’s--That’s the _pure_ stuff, like Big Mama.”

Taako screeches, “Pure _what?!_ ” while making a beeline for his sister and yanking her hand towards him and letting the wooden spoon clatter to the floor. He’s bristling, in that way that Magnus vaguely understands as the odd nonverbal private language of the twins. Sure, he knows he can read Taako well enough, but his hundred years have nothing on Lup’s two hundred and seventy-five.

Lup is nearly vibrating in that same way, that clear read of distress and confusion, “It’s _radiant_ magic!”

Magnus sputters because--well, that’s not exactly a surprise, they’d all sort of surmised what the cult asshole had been trying to do but that they had apparently _succeeded_. It’s not bad if it’s the reason Lucretia’s still alive but it sure as hell isn’t all that _good_ either. Not if it means she’s hurting and they can’t get to her. It leaves them all at a standstill, Lup can’t get closer because Lucretia’s new juju will burn off her constructed form apparently, Taako won’t leave Lup, and the only thing that stops Magnus from rushing forward is one tiny voice,

“Lu-Lucretia?”

Angus stumbles into the kitchen, Lucretia’s quilt bundled around his shoulders and dragging behind like a cape. He rubs at his eyes and squints against the light coming from Lucretia’s huddled form. When he starts to move closer Magnus bolts, grabbing the boy by his shoulders and holding him in place. He doesn’t think Lucretia would ever hurt Angus on purpose but he’s also absolutely certain that if she manages to do it by accident while in this state things will break bad _very_ quickly.

“Angus, wait just--just stay back for a second. She’s--She’s having a rough time.”

“She’s _glowing_.”

“Er--That too.”

Angus nods and seems to settle himself enough that Magnus relaxes his grip. The boy glances around at the other adults in the room, takes in the strained looks on Lup and Taako’s face, the huddled form of Lucretia beside the overturned table, and lastly turns his eyes towards Magnus.

“Can I try talking to her? Would that help?”

Magnus nods because--Well, it can’t hurt and if nothing else maybe it buys them time until Davenport and Merle get back to the suite after touching base with the rest of the Bureau. He wishes now that Merle hadn’t left, he’s the authority on radiant magic out of the lot of them but Davenport had needed the emotional support more than they’d thought they’d need Merle’s medical or even religious knowledge. Lucretia had been out cold when they’d left, but Merle had said all her vitals were normal and besides keeping her hydrated and getting a little more food in her system there wasn’t really any medical advice that would really help her situation.

So yeah, talking seems like a good plan and Angus McDonald is very good at talking.

“L-Lucretia?” Angus voice falters, just slightly but then he squares his shoulder and lifts his chin, “Lucretia, I know you can hear me.”

Lucretia’s back loses tension ever so slightly but she doesn’t uncurl from her defensive position. Angus seems to take this as encouragement nonetheless and shimmies under Magnus’ arm to push forward, closer to Lucretia and her shield. The fighter almost stops him, out of pure instinct but instead just moves with him, lingering a few steps behind.

“You’re home and you’re safe and we’re all here with you, okay? I’m sorry we couldn’t come sooner but we’re here now and we care about you so please--please look at me?”

Slowly, ever so slowly Lucretia rises ever so slightly. She’s still crouched in a distinctly defensive position but Magnus can see her face again. Her eyes look like great full moons and the tears that trickle down her cheeks twinkle like starlight.

It’s beautiful and pitiable all at once and it strikes Magnus through the heart, there’s a sharp intake of breath further into the kitchen and it draws Magnus’ eyes back to the twins. Lup’s hand is slowly reforming as Taako rubs soothing circles across her palm--Who it’s meant to soothe he’s not really certain but both of their ears drop low and upset as their eyes catch Lucretia’s face.

Angus, because he’s really the best of all of them the youngest and brightest and Magnus knows that he’ll be better than the rest of them one day, pushes past any reaction. Instead, he pushes forward and sits himself down as close to Lucretia as he can just outside her little barrier. He holds his hand out, not quite touching but inviting her to take his hand, “Did you get scared? Is that why you made a shield?”

Lucretia nods, just now seeming to notice the shield of her own creation. With the same cautionary slowness, she reaches out and places her hand against the bubble, mere inches away from Angus’ hand. When Lucretia closes her eyes there’s something decidedly unsettling about the way that light shines through her eyelids. Pure focus colors her features and the longer her hand lingers the duller the glow until it winks out of existence.

Once it does Angus reaches the rest of the way forward, gently taking her hand. Magnus takes a careful step forward, moving directly behind Angus and getting a better look at Lucretia. The glow of her eyes is fading, even if her pupils still remain white as bleached bones. She stares at the place she and Angus’ hands are joined and rasps, “I was scared I couldn’t use magic.”

Angus nods, exuding a sort of infinite understanding that makes Magnus so proud. It’s no surprise that he’s the one who reached through to Lucretia in this moment of unexpected panic. They’re all invested in very different ways to the woman hunched on the kitchen floor and it makes emotions messy. Angus probably has the purest, least baggage-laden tie out of all of them at this point. He loves Lucretia with a level of devotion of unheaded by the hurt of mistakes and bad decisions.

It’s not a better love, it’s just different and it’s something that none of them can really give Lucretia in this time of need. Something Angus is perfectly willing and wanting to give.

Magnus watches as Angus brings his other hand up to squeeze Lucretia’s, “I had a theory they must have suppressed your magic somehow, ma’am. Otherwise, you would have been too powerful for _anyone_ to hold.”

There’s something like a ghost of a smile on Lucretia’s face as she listens to Angus speak, one that Magnus knows is more Director than Lucy but--but it’s softer than he ever saw it when her face had been wrinkled and tired. It’s something special, he thinks, something for the Bureau she built with her own hands that he thinks is probably as dear to her heart as the IPRE ever was. It’s still pretty strange, watching where the two halves of Lucretia, Lucy and the Director, intersect and maybe learning to accept that the two have more in common than he’d previously thought.

“Yeah, that shit was whack.” She says softly and Magnus breathes a sigh of relief because this is one crisis averted for now at least.

The fighter manages to channel those rogue levels and ace his stealth check to quietly slide past the two on the floor and get to Lup and Taako. There’s still a clear line of tension in Taako’s shoulders but it’s fading as Lup quietly whispers something into his ear. When the elf turns his gaze to Magnus he looks wracked with guilt in a way that’s wholly unsuited for the normally unflappable elf.

“I--I don’t know what I _did_ ,” He hisses just shy of a whisper as his eyes dart between the humans sitting on the floor and the human in front of him, “I just made her oatmeal!”

Lup frowns, her brow scrunched in thought as she flexes her partially bone hand. Just her pointer finger and thumb are missing flesh now, slowly regenerating muscle by muscle. It’s a little gross to look at, “Could it be food? That’s the first solid food we’ve tried giving her-- _Fuck_ , I figured they’d been starving here what with the skin and bones but what if it’s worse.”

Magnus can’t help but sputter, “What’s worse than _starving_ her?”

“Maggie, you’re not a magic user so it might not occur to you but there’s only so many ways to suppress someone’s magic,” Lup’s trying to be gentle Magnus realizes, as her eyes dart towards Taako and her ears flick down, “If it wasn’t like, a physical device it was probably a potion or something. Ya know, mixed in with her food.”

Taako’s gasp is absolutely heart wrenching but it’s frighteningly at odds with the terrifying as the glint in his eye as he puts his sister’s words into the context of what they just saw. The elf’s eyes are absolutely alight with the same rage Magnus has felt churning on and off in his gut for the past week. Taako looks angry and Magnus doesn’t think he’s seen him look like that since the day of story and song.

“Those bastards _poisoned_ her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly on track outline wise though the unexpected feelings in it will be causing a minor detour in the NEXT chapter.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real warnings for this chapter, it's mostly wholesome comfort now that we've yeeted ourselves out of all this hurt

Lucretia sits on the floor with Angus for what feels like hours, the shift somewhat, scoot haphazardly from the kitchen and it’s overturned furniture. It’s quite cute really, watching Angus insist she stays seated leaning against the couch as he slowly amasses an army worth of pillows and blankets. There’s no rhyme or reason for who’s room he steals from, he darts into all of them without fear of chastisement for his petty theft.

He builds a blanket fort around her, lights it with cantrips and huddles in beside her. Then, in reply to her quirked eyebrow, only responds with, “It’s so you feel safe but can still rest.”  
It makes her laugh as much as it makes her eyes well up, just the smallest bit. Angus doesn’t say anything about it, because he is as always a godsend of a child and he might also be sniffle a little himself.

She can still hear Lup, Taako, and Magnus in the kitchen but it’s a distant thing--A comfort that she can hear the distant tones but not truly make out any words. Their presence without the overbearing worry she is certain will soon rear its unwelcome head. Like that first month after her cycle alone ended, when no one had let her be alone for longer than the time it took to use the bathroom and even then someone was usually outside the door waiting for her.

It had felt like comfort then but she worries that it won’t feel the same this time, too much has changed and there’s weight in every interaction now. The consequences of her mistakes are so very heavy and she fears they’ll suffocate her like a wet blanket before she can even begin to recover from this newest hand tailored trauma.

Her own mind is a cavernous pit, it’s just as adamant in denying her peace as fate itself seems to be. Perhaps she should have Magnus talk to Istus, figure out what she did to anger the goddess so much.

Angus though seems to notice when her mind starts attempting to cannibalize the little happiness her surroundings have managed to conjure. He’s at her side in an instant, tugging her hand gently, “You know, you don’t have to talk about anything that happened, I know you must have gone through a lot but, um, I can tell you all about what happened around here. So you don’t get behind and stuff?”

It hadn’t even occurred to her yet, that the Bureau had continued functioning without her which--well, that’s likely a sentiment she’ll need to dissect _much_ later. Instead, she nods and listens to Angus describe the events in her absence, though he carefully skirts around the majority of their investigation towards her kidnapping. He mentions it, of course, but mostly he focuses on the mundane.

“Carey and Killian were really busy, but Brad helped a lot with paperwork while I coordinated the Seekers,” Angus explains, his hands skittering about as he narrates. That it took four people working together around the clock to do her job is an odd sort of comfort. Perhaps it shouldn’t be, but it’s the surest sign she’s had in months that her presence actually _means_ something. There had been merit to the tiny voice in her brain insisting that the Bureau _did_ need her, that it just wouldn’t be the same without her.

It’s sad what it took to prove it. Sad and horrifying but maybe it eases the monsters in her brain, braying and howling for blood. The little infection in her thoughts continues to be kept back as she listens to Angus, her smile growing a little wider at every minor anecdote he recalls from her nine days absent. This one about a set of seekers who he dressed down for faulty research, another for a regulator who didn’t seem to think they should be taking orders from a child.

  
She takes note of that one’s name, very much ready to put the fear of The Director into them for back sassing her head seeker.

Midway through a short lull in Angus’ tale, she hears the door open beyond the soft walls of their fort. Angus perks at the sound, “Oh! I bet that’s Mister Captain Davenport and Mister Merle back!”

He begins to scramble out, only slightly faltering as he must disentangle himself from their blanket-y cocoon. Lucretia laughs softly as she follows out after, she does want to see Davenport and Merle. That they weren’t there when she first woke up is only just now hitting her really, and she has no idea what time it is but she guesses with how utterly wrecked her internal clock now seems to be that will just be her resting state for a while.

“Everyone file in in an orderly fashion, we don’t want to crowd her,” Davenport’s voice fills the quiet space of the suite accompanied by what sounds like an army worth of footsteps, “Carey Ann Fangbattle, don’t you cut in line! Killian get back here, you’re breaking formation!”

Before her mind can really process the words that pass through the suite she’s lifted up and off the ground. The arms are familiar though she’s only ever been lifted up like this once, it was at the wedding where Carey and Killian had asked her to make a speech in place of their parents. Killian’s absent due to distance and Carey’s not having been invited. Just like then her entire field of vision is filled with Green and Blue and it startles a bark of laughter out of her. If she’s laughing she won’t cry.

“H-Hello, Missus and Missus Fangbattle.”

The arms holding her are warm and strong and if a momentary feeling of powerlessness surges through her body to form a pit in her stomach it’s immediately destroyed by Killian’s familiar croon, “It’s good to see ya, Boss Lady.”

And _oh_ —there are tears there, in the little corners of Carey’s eyes normally filled with mirth. Killian’s more steadfast, it’s easier to be more stoic with the ability to hide expressions behind tusks, but the hairline fractures in her composure are visible to anyone who knows her well enough. Lucretia wriggles in the orcish woman’s hold and Killian, used to carrying Carey all about the quad, let’s The Director slip up onto her shoulder with only a little assistance. Almost immediately Lucretia slips a hand into Killian’s hair gently carding her fingers through the dark locks.

“I’m glad you two are safe. I had no way of knowing if the attack on my person was an isolated incident.”

Carey’s sputtering as she scales her wife to perch on Killian’s opposite shoulder, “ You’re glad _we’re_ safe? You’re really stealing our whole thunder here, Director!”

Lucretia is rather content to mull in the peaceful din for a few moments as Davenport lightly scolds her two best Regulators. Brad and Avi linger further back, apparently actually able to listen and take Davenport’s words to heart. Granted, her captain is probably right, the handful they have now is alright, but there are far more members of the bureau who will likely want to see her soon. It’s a daunting task really, revealing herself so changed, the idea of putting back on the masquerade again is just so exhausting.

She’s so tired and she doesn’t want to pretend anymore.

Before she’s able to spend too much time mulling over her anxious thoughts the door to the suite slams open. A tall and lithe figure carrying enough bags to obscure their form kicks the door open just enough to skitter inside before it closes behind them just as harshly. For a moment, Lucretia is startled but then a voice she’s known since it cracked it’s way into it’s current state fills the room,

“What the hell, I can’t believe you guys just came over without me! You said you’d wait while I got her stuff--”

Lucas Miller stands in the foyer, holding bags that she recognizes with a start. They’re her overnight bags, from Maureen’s place. Mostly casual clothes and pajamas, she never needed to dress up and project an image around the Millers. Still, after everything she hadn’t really expected Lucas to keep them, let alone in as pristine condition as they appear to be considering the young man’s tendency towards untidiness. Yet here they are, in Lucas’ too gangly arms as he stops dead in his tracks at the sight of her.

Behind round, coke bottle lenses Lucas blinks, “You--You look _my_ age.”

Lucretia laughs, probably louder than she has in weeks. She pats Killian lightly on the arm, warning the woman before she slides down her large bicep and mostly sticks her landing. With a nervous smile, she steps forward, “Hello, Lucas.”

Lucas sputters, practically tossing the bags onto the nearby couch and rushing over. He looks so much like his mother, with his brows scrunched in panic and his lips pursed like he’s trying very much to look like he _isn’t_ panicked. Maureen had a much better poker face, but the Miller's eyebrows are expressive creatures all on their own. His hands hover just out of her personal space like he wants to touch her but isn’t sure if he's still allowed.

Her boy sputters, “Oh my gods, people are gonna think you’re my _sister_ instead of my mom.”

The moment he says it the tension in his form seems to break a little bit, like whatever had been keeping him upright and moving shifts just enough that his composure tumbles to the floor. Standing before her his eyes leak fat tears and his hands tremble and it’s like looking at a snapshot to a captured moment of the past.

It’s funny, not comically funny but funny like an eerie feeling in one’s stomach they can’t place because the last time she’d actually seen Lucas cry like this had been Maureen’s—Well, it had been under less happy circumstances. Lucas isn’t any less awkward of a crier now than he was then but this time when she wraps her arms around him he sinks into them. He’s not much shorter than her and he’s just as slight so it’s all sharp angles and sharper elbows but they make it work.

“Please don’t die,” The sound is mumbled into her neck, muffled enough that perhaps even the elves in the room won’t hear, “I can’t lose you too.”

She squeezes him back, burying her face against his shoulder in turn. He smells the same as always, like old books, ink, and new lab equipment. It’s so familiar but it’s been so long since she’s been so close to the scent, not just caught it lingering in old boxes. She’s lost Maureen’s already, everything of hers faded now but she still has Lucas.

She has Lucas, Angus, Carey, Killian, Brad, and Avi. Gods, she still has so much, doesn’t she?

“I won’t die,” She insists clutching Lucas closer, “Not any time soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a lot of fun in terms of just, FINALLY giving Lucretia a break. She's finally been reunited with everyone she loves, we did it. We got her home!!!! Things are gonna get a little more nebulous after this because this time I AM starting to wrap up the primary fic and hopefully start moving on to sidefics soon.
> 
> Also, Lucas Miller has three mothers. Maureen, Lucretia, and me. I love my trash boy SO MUCH even though he's just a regular garbage boy.


End file.
